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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27061564">The shield of Dauntless</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/11AMHO/pseuds/11AMHO'>11AMHO</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Divergent - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BAMF Tris Prior, F/F, F/M, Slow Build</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:22:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,353</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27061564</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/11AMHO/pseuds/11AMHO</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Beatrice knew herself better and knew she would go to Dauntless and prepared herself ahead of time?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This first chapter is just are telling of the story so its pretty much word for word out of the book.<br/>As always I don't own any of the characters or the world its set in.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter One</p>
<p>I wake up in the morning before dawn as always.  I stretch as I get up and put on some loose slacks and a shirt before I leave the house.  As always, I start with a slow jog around Abnegation before picking up my pace.</p>
<p>You see I’ve always known I wasn’t going to stay in Abnegation.  That I would most likely transfer to Dauntless.  So last year I started exercising so that I would be in shape for choosing day.  When I first started, I could barely make it round the block in a slow jog, but my endurance increased as I kept going.  I also looked up some books in the school library to help and since then I’ve been doing much better and now I can do at least three laps around the whole Abnegation sector at a run before I get winded.</p>
<p>I had also volunteered for some of the more physically demanding jobs over the summer to try and build up some muscle.</p>
<p>After my run, I do some quick stretches before jogging back home to have a shower and start breakfast before anyone can see me outside.  As I start breakfast, I can see the sun starting to peek over the surrounding buildings and I can hear the rest of my family get ready for the day.</p>
<p>After breakfast, my mother sits me Infront of the only mirror in the house and starts to cut my hair.  When she finishes, she pulls my hair away from my face and twists it into a knot.  I note how calm she looks and how focused she is.  She is well-practised in the art of losing herself.  I can’t say the same of myself.</p>
<p>I sneak a look at my reflection when she isn’t paying attention—not fir the sake of vanity, but out of curiosity.  A lot can happen to a person’s appearance in three months.  In my reflection, I see a narrow face, wide round eyes, and a long, thin nose.  After a year of constant exercise, I have lost the baby fat from around my face and now I look like the sixteen I turned sometime in the last few months.  The other factions celebrate birthdays, but we don’t.  It would be self-indulgent.</p>
<p>“There,” she says when she pins the knot in place.  Her eyes catch mine in the mirror.  It is too late to look away, but instead of scolding me, she smiles at our reflection.  I frown a little.  Why doesn’t she reprimand me for staring at myself?</p>
<p>“So today is the day,” She says.</p>
<p>“Yes,” I reply.</p>
<p>“Are you nervous?”</p>
<p>I stare into my own eyes for a moment.  Today is the day of the aptitude test that will show me for certain which of the five factions I belong in.  And tomorrow, at the Choosing Ceremony, I will decide on a faction; I will decide the rest of my life; I will most likely decide to leave my family forever.</p>
<p>“No,” I say.  “The tests don’t have to change our choices.”</p>
<p>“Right.” She smiles.</p>
<p>“Thank you.  For cutting my hair.”</p>
<p>He kisses my cheek and slides the panel over the mirror.  I think my mother could be beautiful, in a different world.  Her body is thin beneath the grey robe.  She has high cheekbones and long eyelashes, and when she lets her hair down at night, it hangs in waves over her shoulders.  But she must hide that beauty in Abnegation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The bus stinks of exhaust.  Every time it hits a patch of uneven pavement, it jostles me from side to side, even though I’m gripping the seat to keep myself still.</p>
<p>My older brother, Caleb, stands in the aisle, holding the railing above his head to keep himself steady.  We don’t look alike.  He has my father’s dark hair and hooked nose and my mother’s green eyes and dimpled cheeks.  When he was younger, that collection of features looked strange, but now it suits him.  If he weren’t Abnegation, I’m sure the girls at school would stare at him.</p>
<p>He also inherited my mother’s talent for selflessness.  He gave his seat to a surly Candor man on the bus without a second thought</p>
<p>The Candor man wears a black suit with a white tie—Candor standard uniform.  Their faction values honesty and sees the truth as black and white, so that is what they wear.</p>
<p>The gaps between the buildings narrow and the roads are smoother as we near the heart of the city.  The building that was once called the Sears Tower—we call it the Hub—emerges from the fog, a black pillar in the skyline.  The bus passes under the elevated tracks.  I have never been on a train, though they never stop running and there are tracks everywhere.  Only the Dauntless ride them.</p>
<p>Five years ago, volunteer construction workers from Abnegation repaves some of the roads.  They started in the middle of the city and worked their way outward until they ran out materials.  The roads where I live are still cracked and patchy, and it's not safe to drive on them.  We don’t have a car anyway.</p>
<p>Caleb’s expression is placid as the bus sways and jolts on the road.  The grey robe falls from his arm as her clutches a pole for balance.  I can tell by the constant shift of his eyes that he is watching the people around us—striving to see only them and to forget himself.  Candor values honesty, but our faction, Abnegation, values selflessness.</p>
<p>The bus stops in front of the school and I get up, scooting past the Candor man.  I grab Caleb’s arm as I stumble over the man’s shoes.  My slacks are too long, and I’ve never been that graceful.</p>
<p>The Upper Levels building is the oldest of the three schools in the city: Lower Levels, Mid-Levels, and Upper Levels.  Like all the other buildings around it, it is made of glass and steel.  In front of it is a large metal sculpture that the Dauntless climb after school, daring each other to go higher and higher.  Last year I climbed it with them and when one of them fell and broke her leg I ran to get the nurse.  I’m friendly with a few people from each faction but most of them are from Dauntless.</p>
<p>“Aptitude tests today,” I say.  Caleb is not quite a year older than I am, so we are in the same year at school and are remarkably close because of it.</p>
<p>He nods as we pass through the front doors.  My muscles tighten the second we walk in.  The atmosphere feels hungry, like every sixteen-year-old is trying to devour as much as he can get out of this day.  It is likely that we will not walk these halls again after the Choosing ceremony—once we choose, our new factions will be responsible for finishing our education.</p>
<p>Our classes are cut in half today, so we will attend all of them before the aptitude tests, which take place after lunch.  My heart rate is already elevated.</p>
<p> “You aren’t at all worried about what they’ll tell you?” I ask Caleb.</p>
<p>We pause at the split in the hallway where he will go one way toward Advanced Math’s, and I will go the other, toward Faction History.</p>
<p>He raises an eyebrow at me.  “Are you?”</p>
<p>I could tell him that I’ve been worried for weeks that the test would tell me to stay when I’m so clearly not cut out for Abnegation.</p>
<p>Instead, I smile and say, “not really.”</p>
<p>He smiles back.  “Well…have a good day.”</p>
<p>I walk toward Faction History, chewing on my lower lip.  He never answered my question.</p>
<p>The hallways are cramped, though the light coming through the windows creates the illusion of space; they are one of the only places where the factions mix, at our age.  Today the crowd has a new kind of energy, a last day mania.</p>
<p>A girl with long curly hair shouts “hey!” next to my ear, waving at a distant friend.  A jacket sleeve smacks me on the cheek.  Then an Erudite boy in a blue sweater tries to shove me before I twist out the way.</p>
<p>“Out of my way, stiff,” he snaps, and continues down the hallway.</p>
<p>My cheeks flame.  A few people had stopped to see if I would do anything but moved on when I did.  Their eyes follow me to the edge of the hallway.  This sort of thing has been happening to others in my faction for months now—the Erudite have been releasing antagonistic reports about Abnegation, and it has begun to affect the way we relate at school.  The grey clothes, the plain hairstyle, and the unassuming demeanour of my faction are supposed to make it easier for me to forget myself, and easier for everyone else to forget me too.  But now they make me a target.</p>
<p>I pause by a window in the E Wing and wait for the Dauntless to arrive.  I do this every morning.  At exactly 7:25, the Dauntless prove their bravery by jumping from a moving train.</p>
<p>My father calls the Dauntless “hellions.” They are pierced, tattooed, and black-clothed.  Their primary purpose is to guard the fence that surrounds our city.  From what, I don’t know.</p>
<p>They should perplex me.  I should wonder what courage—which is the virtue they most value—has to do with a metal ring through your nostril.  Instead, my eyes cling to them wherever they go, and I long to run as one of them.</p>
<p>The train whistle blares, the sound resonating in my chest.  The light fixed to the front of the train clicks on and off as the train hurtles past the school, squealing on iron rails. And as the last few cars pass, a mass exodus of young men and women in dark clothing hurls themselves from the moving cars, some dropping and rolling, others stumbling a few steps before regaining their balance.  One of the boys wraps his arm around a girl’s shoulders, laughing.</p>
<p>Watching them is a foolish practice.  I turn away from the window and press through the crowd to the Faction history Classroom.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter two</p><p>The tests begin after lunch.  We sit at the long tables in the cafeteria, and the test administrators call ten names at a time, one for each testing room.  I sit next to Caleb and across from our neighbour Susan.</p><p>Susan’s father travels throughout the city for his job, so he has a car and drives her to and from school every day.  He offered to drive us, too, but as Caleb says, we prefer to leave later and would not want to inconvenience him.</p><p>Of course not.</p><p>The test administrators are mostly Abnegation volunteers, although there is an Erudite in one of the testing rooms and a Dauntless in another to test those of us from Abnegation because the rules state that we can’t be tested by someone from our own faction. The rules also say that we can’t prepare for the test in any way, so I don’t know what to expect.</p><p>My gaze drifts from Susan to the Dauntless tables across the room. They are laughing and shouting and playing cards, a couple of them catch my eye and give me a friendly nod.  They’ve been distant this year, everyone has, not wanting to forge relationships with people they may never see again after tomorrow.</p><p>At another set of tables, the Erudite chatter over books and newspapers, in constant pursuit of knowledge.</p><p>A group of Amity girls in yellow and red sit in a circle on the cafeteria floor, playing some kind of hand slapping game involving a rhyming song.  Every few minutes I hear a chorus of laughter from them as someone is eliminated and has to sit in the centre of the circle. At the table next to them, Candor boys make wide gestures with their hands. They appear to be arguing about something, but it must not be serious, because some of them are still smiling.</p><p>At the Abnegation table, we sit quietly and wait. Faction customs dictate even idle behaviour and supersede individual preference.  I doubt all the Erudite want to study all the time, or that every Candor enjoys a lively debate, but they can’t defy the norms of their factions any more than I can.</p><p>Caleb’s name is called in the next group.  He moves confidently toward the exit.  I don’t need to wish him luck or assure him that he shouldn’t be nervous.  He knows where he belongs, and as far as I know, he always has.  My earliest memory of him is from when we were four years old.  He scolded me for not hiving my jump rope to a little girl on the playground who didn’t have anything to play with.  He doesn’t lecture me often anymore, but I have his look of disapproval memorized.</p><p>I have tried to explain to him that my instincts are not the same as his—it didn’t even enter my mind to give my seat to the Candor man on the bus—but he doesn’t understand.  “just do what you're supposed to,” he always says.  It is that easy for him.  It should be that easy for me.</p><p>My stomach wrenches.  I close my eyes and keep them closed until ten minutes later when Caleb sits down again.</p><p>He Is plaster-pale.  He pushes his palms along his legs like I do when I wipe off sweat, and when he brings them back, his fingers shake.  I open my mouth to ask him something, nut the words don’t come.  I am not allowed to ask him about his results, and he is not allowed to tell me.</p><p>An Abnegation volunteer speaks the next round of names.  Two from Dauntless, two from Erudite, two from Amity, two from Candor, and then: “From Abnegation: Susan Black and Beatrice Prior.”</p><p>I get up because I’m supposed to, but if it were up to me, I would stay in my seat for the rest of time.  I feel like there is a bubble in my chest that expands more by the second, threatening to break me apart from the inside.  I follow Susan to the exit.  The people I pass probably can’t tell us apart.  We wear the same clothes, and we wear our blond hair the same way.  The only difference is that Susan might not feel like she’s going to throw up, and from what I can tell, her hands aren’t shaking so hard she has to clutch the hem of her shirt to steady them.</p><p>Waiting for us outside the cafeteria is a row of ten rooms.  They are used only for the aptitude tests, so I have never been in one before.  Unlike the other rooms in the school, they are separated, not by glass, but by mirrors.  I watch myself, pale and terrified, walking toward one of the doors.  Susan grins nervously at me as she walks into room 5, and I walk into room 6, where a Dauntless woman waits for me.</p><p>She is not as sever-looking as the young Dauntless I have seen.  She has small, dark, angular eyes and wears a black blazer—like a man’s suit—and jeans.  It is only when she turns to close the door that I see a tattoo on the back of her neck, a black-and-white hawk with a red-eye.</p><p>“Your tattoo is beautiful,” I whisper.</p><p>She looked back at me surprised “Thank you, it’s not often someone from Abnegation can appreciate something forbidden in their faction.  Have a seat and get comfortable, my names Tori.”</p><p>I shrugged “Perhaps I’m not meant for Abnegation Tori.”</p><p>She stands behind me and just stares for a moment.  I squeeze the armrests so tightly the redness pulls away from my knuckles.  She tugs wires toward her, attaching them to me, to her, to the machine behind her.  Then she passes me a vial of clear liquid.</p><p>“Drink this,” she says.</p><p>“what is it?” my throat feels swollen.  I swallow hard.  “what’s going to happen?”</p><p>“can’t tell you that.   Just trust me.”</p><p>I press air from my lungs and tell myself to be brave and tip the contents of the vial into my mouth.  My eyes close.</p><p>When they open, an instant has passed, but I’m somewhere else.  I stand in the school cafeteria again, but all the long tables are empty, and I see through the glass walls that it’s snowing.  On the table in front of me are two baskets.  In one is a hunk of cheese, and in the other, a knife the length of my forearm.</p><p>Behind me, a woman’s voice says, “choose.”</p><p>“why?” I ask.</p><p>“choose,” she repeats.</p><p>So, I grab the knife and suddenly the baskets disappear, and a massive dog starts growling at me, teeth bared, and starts advancing at me.  I knew then what I had to do so I lunged at the dog with the knife aiming for its throat.  The dog is gone and I’m alone again.  I push the door open and walk into a hallway, but it isn’t a hallway; it’s a bus, and all the seats are taken.</p><p>I stand in the aisle and hold onto a pole.  Sitting near me is a man with a newspaper.  I can’t see his face over the top of the paper, but I can see his hands.  They are scarred, like he was burned, and they clench around the paper like he wants to crumple it.</p><p>“Do you know this guy?” he asks.  He taps the picture on the front page of the newspaper.  The headline reads:” Brutal Murderer Finally Apprehended!” I stare at the word “murderer.”   It has been a long time since I last read that word.</p><p>In the picture beneath the headline is a young man with a plain face and a beard.  I feel like I do know him, though I don’t remember how.  And at the same time, I feel like it would be a bad idea to tell the man that.</p><p>“Well?” I hear anger in his voice.  “Do you?”</p><p>A bad idea—no, a very bad idea.  My heart pounds and I clutch the pole to keep my hands from shaking, from giving me away.  If I tell him I know the man from the article, something awful will happen to me.  But I can convince him that I don’t.  I can clear my throat and shrug my shoulders—but that would be a lie.</p><p>I clear my throat.</p><p>“Do you?” he repeats.</p><p>I shrug my shoulders.</p><p>“Well?”</p><p>A shudder goes through me.  My fear is irrational; this is just a test, it isn’t real, I should be brave.  I square my shoulders and look him in the eye.  “Nope,” I say, my voice casual.  “No idea who he is.”</p><p>He stands, and finally, I see his face.  He wears dark sunglasses, and his mouth is bent into a snarl.  His cheek is rippled with scars, like his hands.  He leans close to my face.  His breath smells like cigarettes.  Not real, I remind myself.  Be brave.</p><p>“You’re lying,” he says.  “You’re lying!”</p><p>“I am not.”</p><p>“I can see it in your eyes.”</p><p>I pull myself up even straighter.  “You can’t.”</p><p>“If you know him,” he says in a low voice, “you could save me.  You could save me!”</p><p>I narrow my eyes.  “Well,” I spit at him “I don’t.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Three</p>
<p>I wake to sweaty palms and a pang of guilt in my chest.  I am lying in the chair in the mirror room.  When I tilt my head back, I see Tori behind me. She looks troubled for a moment before her expression clears and she goes to take the wires off of me and types something into the machine.</p>
<p>I clear my throat “what was my result?”</p>
<p>Tori just looks at me for a moment before she smiles “Dauntless. I had thought for a moment you might be Erudite.  Definitely not Abnegation though I can’t imagine how uncomfortable it must be for you there.  If you do choose my faction, come and find me at the tattoo shop and we’ll talk about your first design.”</p>
<p>I thank her as I leave, a little shaky on my legs and she just gives me a wink. I see Caleb as I leave and tell him that I’m going to walk home so that I can do some thinking.  As I leave the building and start walking the streets my smile grows and I decide that I should take this opportunity to get some exercise in and run home.</p>
<p>I run in the middle of the road. The buses tend to hug the curb, so it's safer here.  Sometimes, on the streets near my house, I can see places where the yellow lines used to be.  We have no need for them now that there are so few cars.  We don’t need stoplight, either, but in some places, they dangle precariously over the road like they might crash down any minute.</p>
<p>Renovation moves slowly through the city, which is a patchwork of new, clean buildings and old, crumbling ones.  The Abnegation volunteer agency my mother works for is responsible for most of these renovations and I joined in this summer with the manual labour.</p>
<p>When I look at the Abnegation lifestyle as an outsider, I think it’s beautiful. When I watch my family move in harmony; when we go to dinner parties and everyone cleans together afterwards without having to be asked; when I see Caleb help strangers carry their groceries, I fall in love with this life all over again.  It’s only when I try to live it myself that I have trouble.  It never feels genuine.  It always feels wrong.</p>
<p>But choosing a different faction means I forsake my family.  Permanently.</p>
<p>Just past the Abnegation sector of the city is the stretch of building skeletons and broken sidewalks that I now run through.  There are places where the road has completely collapsed, revealing sewer systems and empty subway that I have to be careful to avoid, and places that stink so powerfully of sewage and trash that I have to plug my nose.</p>
<p>This is where the factionless live.  Because they failed to complete initiation into whatever faction they chose, they live in poverty, doing the work no one else wants to do.  They are janitors and drive buses.  In return for their work they get food and clothing, but, as my mother says, not enough of either.</p>
<p>I see a factionless man standing on the corner up ahead. He wears ragged brown clothing and skin sags from his jaw. He stares at me, and I stare back at him, unable to look away.</p>
<p>“Excuse me,” he rasps.” So, you have something I can eat?”</p>
<p>I feel a lump in my throat.  A stern voice in my head says, duck your head and keep jogging.</p>
<p>No.  I shake my head.  I should not be afraid of this man.  He needs my help, and I am supposed to give it to him.</p>
<p>“Um…yes,” I say.  I reach into my bag.  My father always tells me to keep food in my bag for exactly this reason.  I offer the man a small bag of dried apple slices.</p>
<p>He reaches for them, but instead of taking the bag, his hand closes around my wrist.  He smiles at me.  He has a gap between his front teeth.</p>
<p>“My, don’t you have pretty eyes,” he says.  “It’s a shame the rest of you is so plain.”</p>
<p>My heart pounds.  I tug my hand back, but his grip tightens.  I smell something acrid and unpleasant on his breath. I take a deep breath before bringing my other elbow back and hitting him in the face, he drops my wrist to clutch his face and I take the opportunity to run while he is distracted.  I don’t stop running till just outside the Abnegation sector where I slow down and take some deep breaths before walking the rest of the way home.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Four</p>
<p>I reach my street five minutes before I normally do, according to my watch—which is the only adornment Abnegation allows, and only because it’s practical.  It has a grey band and a glass face.  If I tilt it right, I can almost see my reflection over the hands.</p>
<p>The houses on my street are all the same size and shape.  They are made of grey cement, with few windows, in economical, no-nonsense rectangles.  Their lawns are crabgrass, and their mailboxes are dull metal.  To some, the sight might be gloomy, but to me, their simplicity is comforting and feels like home.</p>
<p>The reason for the simplicity isn’t disdain for uniqueness, as the other factions have sometimes interpreted it.  Everything—our houses, our clothes, our hairstyles—is meant to help us forget ourselves and to protect us from vanity, greed, and envy, which are just forms of selfishness.  If we have little and want for little, and we are all equal, we envy no one.</p>
<p>I try to love it.</p>
<p>I sit on the front step and wait for Caleb to arrive.  It doesn’t take long.  After a minute I see grey-robed forms walking down the street.  I hear laughter.  At school, we try not to draw attention to ourselves, but since we are home, the games and jokes start.  My natural tendency toward sarcasm is still not appreciated.  Sarcasm is always at someone’s expense.</p>
<p>“Beatrice!” Caleb calls.  “What happened?  Are you alright? You should have been home much earlier than this.”</p>
<p>“I’m fine.” He is with Susan and her brother, Robert, and Susan is giving me a strange look like I’m a different person than the one she knew this morning.  I shrug “The test left me nauseous, so I walked home through the factionless section and stopped to help some people.  That’s why I’m late.  I feel better now though.”</p>
<p>I try to smile convincingly.  I seem to have persuaded Susan and Robert, who no longer look concerned for my mental stability, but Caleb narrows his eyes at me, the way he does when he suspects someone of duplicity.</p>
<p>“Did you two take the bus today?” I ask.  I don’t care how Susan and Robert got home from school, but I need to change the subject.</p>
<p>“Our father had to work late,” Susan replies, “and he told us we should spend some time thinking before the ceremony tomorrow.”</p>
<p>My heart pounds at the mention of the ceremony.</p>
<p>“You’re welcome to come over later, if you’d like,” Caleb says politely.</p>
<p>“Thank you.” Susan smiles at Caleb.</p>
<p>Robert raises an eyebrow at me.  He and I have been exchanging looks for the past year as Susan and Caleb flit in the tentative way known only to the Abnegation.  Caleb’s eyes follow Susan down the walk.  I have to grab his arm to startle him from his daze.  I lead him into the house and close the door behind us.</p>
<p>He turns to me.  His dark, straight eyebrows draw together so that a crease appears between them.  When he frowns, he looks more like my mother than my father.  In an instant I can see him living the same kind of life my father did: staying in Abnegation, learning a trade, marrying Susan, and having a family.  It will be wonderful.</p>
<p>I won’t get to see it.</p>
<p>“Are you going to tell me the truth now?” he asks softly.</p>
<p>“The truth is,” I say, “I’m not supposed to discuss it.  And you’re not supposed to ask.”</p>
<p>“All those rules you bend, and you can’t bend this one?  Not even for something this important?”  his eyebrows tug together, and he bites the corner of his lip.  Though his words are accusatory, it sounds like he is probing me for information—like he actually wants my answer.</p>
<p>I narrow my eyes at him.  “Will you?  What happened in your test Caleb?”</p>
<p>Our eyes meet.  I hear a train horn, so faint it could easily be the wind whistling through an alleyway.  But I know it when I hear it.  It sounds like the Dauntless, calling to me to them.</p>
<p>“You know I’m not meant for Abnegation Caleb,” I whisper with my head down.</p>
<p>He gives me knowing look when I meet his eye again and then it softens into understanding and he quickly mumbles “me too,” before he walks off and I get started on making dinner.</p>
<p>Caleb joins me a minute later and we work together without speaking.  I cook peas on the stove.  He defrosts four pieces of chicken.  Most of what we eat is frozen of canned because farms these days are far away.  My mother told me once that, a long time ago, there were people who wouldn’t buy genetically engineered produce because they viewed it as unnatural.  Now we have no other option.</p>
<p>By the time my parents get home, dinner is ready, and the table is set.  My father drops his bag at the door and kisses my head.  Other people see him as an opinionated man—too opinionated, maybe—but he’s also loving.  I try to see only the good in him; I try.</p>
<p>“How did the test go?” he asks me.  I pour the peas into a serving bowl.</p>
<p>“Fine,” I say.  I couldn’t be Candor.  I lie too easily.</p>
<p>“I heard there was some kind of upset with one of the tests,” my mother says.  Like my father, she works for the government, but she manages city improvement projects.  She recruited volunteers to administer the aptitude tests.  Most of the time, though, she organizes workers to help the factionless with food and shelter and job opportunities.</p>
<p>“Really?” says my father.  A problem with the tests is rare.</p>
<p>“I don’t know much about it, but my friend Erin told me that something went wrong with one of the tests, so the result had to be reported verbally.”  My mother places a napkin next to each plate on the table.  “Apparently the student got sick and was sent home early.”  My mother shrugs.  “I hope they’re all right.  Did you two hear about that?”</p>
<p>“No,” Caleb says.  He smiles at my mother.</p>
<p>My brother couldn’t be Candor either.</p>
<p>We sit at the table.  We always pass food to the right, and no one eats until everyone is served.  My father extends his hands to my mother and my brother, and they extend their hands to him and me, and my father gives thanks to god for food and work and friends and family.  Not every Abnegation family is religious, but my father says we should try not to see those differences because they will only divide us.  I am not sure what to make of that.</p>
<p>“So,” my mother says to my father.  “Tell me.”</p>
<p>She takes my father’s hand and moves her thumb in a small circle over his knuckles.  I stare at their joined hands.  My parents love each other, but they rarely show affection like this in front of us.  They taught us that physical contact is powerful, so I have been wary of it since I was young.<br/><br/>“Tell me what’s bothering you,” she adds.<br/><br/>I stare at my plate. My mother’s acute senses sometimes surprise me, but now they chide me.  Why was I so focused on myself that I didn’t notice his deep frown and his sagging posture?<br/><br/>“I had a difficult day at work,” he says.  “Well, really, it was Marcus who had a difficult day.  I shouldn’t lay claim to it.”</p>
<p>Marcus is my father’s coworker; they are both political leaders.  The city is ruled by a council of fifty people, composed entirely of representatives from Abnegation, because our faction is regarded as incorruptible, due to our commitment to selflessness.  Our leaders are selected by their peers for their impeccable character, moral fortitude, and leadership skills.  Representatives from each of the other factions can speak in the meetings on behalf of a particular issue, but ultimately, the decision is the council’s.  And while the council technically makes decisions together, Marcus is particularly influential.</p>
<p>It has been this way since the beginning of the great peace when the factions were formed.  I think the system persists because we’re afraid of what might happen if it didn’t: war.<br/><br/>“Is this about that report Jeanine Matthews released?” my mother says.  Jeanine Matthews is Erudite’s sole representative, selected based on her IQ score.  My father complains about her often.<br/><br/>I look up.  “A report?”<br/><br/>Caleb gives me a warning look.  We aren’t supposed to speak at the dinner table unless our parents ask us a direct question, and they usually don’t.  Our listening ears are a gift to them, my father says.  They give us their listening ears after dinner, in the family room.<br/><br/>“Yes,” my father says.  His eyes narrow.  “Those arrogant, self-righteous—” He stops and clears his throat.  “Sorry.  But she released a report attacking Marcus’s character.”<br/><br/>I raise my eyebrows.<br/><br/>“What did it say?” I ask.<br/><br/>“Beatrice,” Caleb says quietly.<br/><br/>I duck my head, turning my fork over and over and over until the warmth leaves my cheeks.  I don’t like to be chastised.  Especially by my brother.</p>
<p>“It said,” my father says, “that Marcus’s violence and cruelty toward his son is the reason his son chose Dauntless instead of Abnegation.”<br/><br/>Few people who are born into Abnegation choose to leave it. When they do, we remember.  Two years ago, Marcus’s son, Tobias, left us for the Dauntless, and Marcus was devastated.  Tobias was his only child—and his only family since his wife died giving birth to their second child.  The infant died minutes later.<br/><br/>I never met Tobias.  He rarely attended community events and never joined his father at our house for dinner.  My father often remarked that it was strange, but now it doesn’t matter.<br/><br/>“Cruel?  Marcus?” My mother shakes her head.  “That poor man.  As if he needs to be reminded of his loss.”<br/><br/>“Of his son’s betrayal, you mean?” my father says coldly.  “I shouldn’t be surprised at this point.  The Erudite have been attacking us with these reports for months.  And this isn’t the end.  There will be more, I guarantee it.”</p>
<p>Of his son’s betrayal, you mean?” my father says coldly.  “I shouldn’t be surprised at this point.  The Erudite have been attacking us with these reports for months.  And this isn’t the end.  There will be more, I guarantee it.”<br/><br/>I shouldn’t speak again, but I can’t help myself.  I blurt out, “Why are they doing this?”<br/><br/>“Why don’t you take this opportunity to listen to your father, Beatrice?” my mother says gently.  It is phrased like a suggestion, not a command.  I look across the table at Caleb, who has that look of disapproval in his eyes.<br/>I stare at my peas.  I can’t live this life of obligation any longer.  It just one more day till I’m free.</p>
<p>“You know why,” my father says.  “Because we have something they want.  Valuing knowledge above all else results in a lust for power, and that leads men into dark and empty places.  We should be thankful that we know better.”<br/><br/>I nod.  I know I will not choose Erudite.  I am my father’s daughter.</p>
<p>My parents clean up after dinner.  They don’t even let Caleb help them, because we’re supposed to keep to ourselves tonight instead of gathering in the family room, so we can think about our results.</p>
<p>Caleb and I climb the stairs and, at the top, when we divide to go to our separate bedrooms, he stops me with a hand on my shoulder.</p>
<p>“Beatrice,” he says, looking sternly into my eyes.  “We should think of our family.” There is an edge to his voice.  “But.  But we must also think of ourselves.”<br/><br/>For a moment I stare at him.  I have never seen him think of himself, never heard him insist on anything but selflessness.</p>
<p>“I agree.” I give my brother a quick hug before I go into my room and close the door.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Five</p>
<p>I wake the morning of the Choosing Ceremony feeling determined.  I am going to be Dauntless I get dressed and go for my run as always.  When I get out of the shower after my run, I look at the clothes I have laid out on my bed.</p>
<p>  A plain grey dress that is big and loose on me and some grey leggings. This is not how I want to enter Dauntless and I’ll struggle to run to get on the train in the oversized dress.  So, I sneak into Caleb’s room and snatch a pair of slacks that I know are too short on him, and so should fit me.  I pair it with one of my best fitting tops before I go downstairs and start on breakfast.</p>
<p>My mother gets up first and I hear her small gasp as she spots what I’m wearing.  I turn to look at her expecting to see disappointment, but I see a small smile on her face.  She comes closer and gives me a quick hug.</p>
<p>“Beatrice, I want you to know that I’ll be proud of you no matter which faction you choose as long as it’s the right one for you.” She says shakily.</p>
<p>“Thanks, mum,” I whisper to her before I turn around to finish breakfast.  When Caleb comes down, he is dressed in his smartest clothing and it fits him quite well.  By the time breakfast is done my father walks into the room.  He looks at what both Caleb and I are wearing before he presses his lips together and turns his head away.</p>
<p>Breakfast is silent with my brother and I sharing nervous looks.  The bus we take to get to the Choosing Ceremony is full of people in grey.  A pale ring of sunlight burns into the clouds like the end of a lit cigarette.  I will never smoke one myself, but a crowd of Candor smokes them in front of the building when we get off the bus.</p>
<p>I must tilt my head back to see the top of the Hub, and even then, part of it disappears into the clouds.  It is the tallest building in the city.  I can see the lights on the two prongs on its roof from my bedroom window.</p>
<p>I follow my parents off the bus.  Caleb seems calm, but so do I.  I grab his arm to steady myself as I walk up the front steps.</p>
<p>The elevator is crowded, so my father volunteers to give a cluster of Amity our place.  We climb the stairs instead, following him unquestioningly.  We set an example for our fellow faction members, and soon the three of us are engulfed in the mass of grey fabric ascending cement stairs in the half-light. I settle into their pace. The uniform pounding of feet in my ears and the homogeneity of the people around me makes me believe that I could choose this.  I could be subsumed into Abnegation’s hive mind, projecting always outward.</p>
<p>By floor twenty my blood is pumping, and I can hear the other faction members breathing is ragged and I’m glad for my exercise regime.</p>
<p>My father holds the door open on the twentieth floor and stands like a sentry as every Abnegation walks past him.  I would wait for him, but the crowd presses me forward, out of the stairwell and into the room where I will decide the rest of my life.<br/><br/>The room is arranged in concentric circles.  On the edges stand the sixteen-year-olds of every faction.  We are not called members yet; our decisions today will make us initiates, and we will become members if we complete initiation.<br/><br/>We arrange ourselves in alphabetical order, according to the last names we may leave behind today.  I stand between Caleb and Danielle Pohler, an Amity girl with rosy cheeks and a yellow dress.</p>
<p>Rows of chairs for our families make up the next circle.  They are arranged in five sections, according to faction.  Not everyone in each faction comes to the Choosing Ceremony, but enough of them come that the crowd looks huge.<br/><br/>The responsibility to conduct the ceremony rotates from faction to faction each year, and this year is Abnegation’s.  Marcus will give the opening address and read the names in reverse alphabetical order.  Caleb will choose before me.</p>
<p>In the last circle are five metal bowls so large they could hold my entire body if I curled up. Each one contains a substance that represents each faction: grey stones for Abnegation, water for Erudite, earth for Amity, lit coals for Dauntless, and glass for Candor.<br/><br/>When Marcus calls my name, I will walk to the centre of the three circles. I will not speak. He will offer me a knife.  I will cut into my hand and sprinkle my blood into the bowl of the faction I choose.<br/><br/>My blood sizzling on the coals.</p>
<p>Before my parents sit down, they stand in front of Caleb and me.  My father kisses my forehead and claps Caleb on the shoulder, grinning.<br/><br/>“See you soon,” he says.  Without a trace of doubt.<br/><br/>My mother hugs me, and what little resolve I have left almost breaks.  I clench my jaw and stare up at the ceiling, where globe lanterns hang and fill the room with blue light.  She holds me for what feels like a long time, even after I let my hands fall.  Before she pulls away, she turns her head and whispers in my ear, “I love you.  No matter what.”</p>
<p>I frown at her back as she walks away. She knows what I will do.  She must know, or she wouldn’t feel the need to say that.<br/><br/>Caleb grabs my hand, squeezing my palm so tightly it hurts, but I don’t let go.  The last time we held hands was at my uncle’s funeral, as my father cried.  We need each other’s strength now, just as we did then.<br/><br/>The room slowly comes to order.  I should be observing the Dauntless; I should be taking in as much information as I can, but I can only stare at the lanterns across the room.  I try to lose myself in the blue glow.</p>
<p>Marcus stands at the podium between the Erudite and the Dauntless and clears his throat into the microphone.  “Welcome,” he says.  “Welcome to the Choosing Ceremony.  Welcome to the day we honour the democratic philosophy of our ancestors, which tells us that every man has the right to choose his own way in this world.”<br/><br/>Or, it occurs to me, one of five predetermined ways.  I squeeze Caleb’s fingers as hard as he is squeezing mine.<br/><br/>“Our dependents are now sixteen.  They stand on the precipice of adulthood, and it is now up to them to decide what kind of people they will be.” Marcus’s voice is solemn and gives equal weight to each word.  “Decades ago, our ancestors realized that it is not political ideology, religious belief, race, or nationalism that is to blame for a warring world. Rather, they determined that it was the fault of human personality—of humankind’s inclination toward evil, in whatever form that is.  They divided into factions that sought to eradicate those qualities they believed responsible for the world’s disarray.”</p>
<p>“Those who blamed aggression formed Amity.”<br/><br/>The Amity exchange smiles. They are dressed comfortably, in red or yellow. Every time I see them, they seem kind, loving, free. But joining them has never been an option for me.<br/><br/>“Those who blamed ignorance became the Erudite.”<br/><br/>Ruling out Erudite was the only part of my choice that was easy.<br/><br/>“Those who blamed duplicity created Candor.”<br/><br/>I have never liked Candor.<br/><br/>“Those who blamed selfishness made Abnegation.”<br/><br/>I blame selfishness; I do.<br/><br/>“And those who blamed cowardice were the Dauntless.”<br/><br/>But I am not selfless enough. Sixteen years of trying and I am not enough.<br/><br/>My legs go numb like all the life has gone out of them, and I wonder how I will walk when my name is called.  I’ll have to do the bravest thing yet in my life.</p>
<p>“Working together, these five factions have lived in peace for many years, each contributing to a different sector of society.  Abnegation has fulfilled our need for selfless leaders in government; Candor has provided us with trustworthy and sound leaders in law; Erudite has supplied us with intelligent teachers and researchers; Amity has given us understanding counsellors and caretakers, and Dauntless provides us with protection from threats both within and without.  But the reach of each faction is not limited to these areas.  We give one another far more than can be adequately summarized.  In our factions, we find meaning, we find purpose, we find life.”</p>
<p>I think of the motto I read in my Faction History textbook: Faction before blood. More than family, our factions are where we belong.</p>
<p>Marcus adds, “Apart from them, we would not survive.”<br/><br/>The silence that follows his words is heavier than other silences. It is heavy with our worst fear, greater even than the fear of death: to be factionless.<br/><br/>Marcus continues, “Therefore this day marks a happy occasion—the day on which we receive our new initiates, who will work with us toward a better society and a better world.”<br/><br/>A round of applause. It sounds muffled. I try to stand completely still because if my knees are locked and my body is stiff, I don’t shake. Marcus reads the first names, but I can’t tell one syllable from the other.  How will I know when he calls my name?<br/><br/>One by one, each sixteen-year-old steps out of line and walks to the middle of the room.  The first girl to choose decides on Amity, the same faction from which she came.  I watch her blood droplets fall on soil, and she stands behind their seats alone.<br/><br/>The room is constantly moving, a new name and a new person choosing, a new knife and a new choice.  I recognize most of them, but I doubt they know me.</p>
<p>“James Tucker,” Marcus says.<br/><br/>James Tucker of the Dauntless is the first person to stumble on his way to the bowls.  He throws his arms out and regains his balance before hitting the floor.  His face turns red and he walks fast to the middle of the room.  When he stands in the centre, he looks from the Dauntless bowl to the Candor bowl—the orange flames that rise higher each moment, and the glass reflecting blue light.<br/><br/>Marcus offers him the knife.  He breathes deeply—I watch his chest rise—and, as he exhales, accepts the knife.  Then he drags it across his palm with a jerk and holds his arm out to the side.  His blood falls onto glass, and he is the first of us to switch factions.  The first faction transfer.  A mutter rises from the Dauntless section, and I stare at the floor.</p>
<p>They will see him as a traitor from now on. His Dauntless family will have the option of visiting him in his new faction, a week and a half from now on Visiting Day, but they won’t, because he left them. His absence will haunt their hallways, and he will be a space they can’t fill. And then time will pass, and the hole will be gone, like when an organ is removed and the body’s fluids flow into the space it leaves. Humans can’t tolerate emptiness for long.<br/><br/>“Caleb Prior,” says Marcus.<br/><br/>Caleb squeezes my hand one last time, and as he walks away, casts a long look at me over his shoulder.  I watch his feet move to the centre of the room, and his hands, steady as they accept the knife from Marcus, are deft as one presses the knife into the other.  Then he stands with blood pooling in his palm and his lip snags on his teeth.<br/><br/>He breathes out.  And then in.  And then he holds his hand over the Erudite bowl, and his blood drips into the water, turning it a deeper shade of red.<br/><br/>I hear mutters that lift into outraged cries.  I can barely think straight. My brother, my selfless brother, a faction transfer?  My brother, born for Abnegation, Erudite?<br/><br/>When I close my eyes, I see the stack of books on Caleb’s desk, and his shaking hands sliding along his legs after the aptitude test.  Why didn’t I realize that when he told me to think of myself yesterday, he was also giving that advice to himself?</p>
<p>I scan the crowd of the Erudite—they wear smug smiles and nudge each other.  The Abnegation, normally so placid, speak to one another in tense whispers and glare across the room at the faction that has become our enemy.<br/><br/>“Excuse me,” says Marcus, but the crowd doesn’t hear him. He shouts, “Quiet, please!”<br/><br/>The room goes silent.  Except for a ringing sound.</p>
<p>I hear my name and a shudder propels me forward.  Halfway to the bowls I give my self a small shake and stand up straight.</p>
<p>I look at Caleb, who now stands behind the Erudite.  He stares back at me and nods a little, like he knows what I’m thinking, and agrees.</p>
<p>I set my jaw.  I know who I am.  I know where I will go.</p>
<p>Marcus offers me my knife.  I look into his eyes—they are dark blue, a strange colour—and take it.  He nods, and I turn toward the bowls.  Dauntless fire and Abnegation stones are both on my left, one in front of my shoulder and one behind. I hold the knife in my right hand and touch the blade to my palm.  Gritting my teeth, I drag the blade down.  It stings, but I barely notice.</p>
<p>I thrust my arm out.  My blood drips onto the carpet between the two bowls.  Then, with a gasp I can’t contain, I shift my hand forward, and my blood sizzles on the coals.<br/><br/>I am selfish.  I am brave.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter six</p><p>I train my eyes on the floor and stand behind the Dauntless-born initiates who chose to return to their own faction.  They are all taller than I am, so even when I lift my head, I see only black-clothed shoulders.  When the last girl makes her choice—Amity—it’s time to leave.  The Dauntless exit first.  I walk past the grey-clothed men and women who were my faction, staring determinedly at the back of someone’s head.</p><p>But I have to see my parents one more time.  I look over my shoulder at the last second before I pass them, and immediately wish I hadn’t.  My father’s eyes burn into mine with a look of accusation.  At first, when I feel the heat behind my eyes, I think he’s found a way to set me on fire, to punish me for what I’ve done, but no—I’m about to cry.<br/><br/>Beside him, my mother is smiling.</p><p>The people behind me press me forward, away from my family, who will be the last ones to leave.  They may even stay to stack the chairs and clean the bowls.  I twist my head around to find Caleb in the crowd of Erudite behind me.  He stands among the other initiates, shaking hands with a faction transfer, a boy who was Candor.  The easy smile he wears is an act of betrayal.  My stomach wrenches and I turn away.  If it’s so easy for him, maybe it should be easy for me, too.</p><p>The crowd of Dauntless leading us, go to the stairs instead of the elevators.  I thought only the Abnegation used the stairs.<br/><br/>Then everyone starts running.  I hear whoops and shouts and laughter all around me, and dozens of thundering feet moving at different rhythms.  It is not a selfless act for the Dauntless to take the stairs; it is a wild act.</p><p>“What the hell is going on?” the boy next to me shouts.</p><p>I just shake my head and keep running.  I feel the blood pumping when we reach the first floor, and the Dauntless burst through the exit.  Outside, the air is crisp and cold, and the sky is orange from the setting sun.  It reflects off the black glass of the Hub.</p><p>The Dauntless sprawl across the street, blocking the path of a bus, and I sprint to catch up to the back of the crowd.  My confusion dissipates as I run.  My lungs burning, my muscles aching, the fierce pleasure of a flat-out sprint. I follow the Dauntless down the street and around the corner and hear a familiar sound: the train horn.</p><p>“Oh no,” mumbles the Erudite boy. “Are we supposed to hop on that thing?”<br/><br/>“Oh yes,” I say.<br/><br/>It is good that I spent so much time watching the Dauntless arrive at school.  The crowd spreads out in a long line.  The train glides toward us on steel rails, its light flashing, its horn blaring.  The door of each car is open, waiting for the Dauntless to pile in, and they do, group by group until only the new initiates are left.  The Dauntless-born initiates are used to doing this by now, so in a second, it’s just faction transfers left.</p><p>I start to run alongside the train before I throw myself sideways and pull myself into the car.  I then turn around to help the next transfer into the car, a Candor girl.</p><p>I hear a shout and look over my shoulder.  A short Erudite boy with red hair pumps his arms as he tries to catch up to the train.  An Erudite girl by the door reaches out to grab the boy’s hand, straining, but he is too far behind.  He falls to his knees next to the tracks as we sail away and puts his head in his hands.<br/><br/>I feel uneasy.  He just failed Dauntless initiation.  He is factionless now.  It could happen at any moment.</p><p>“You all right?” the Candor girl who helped me asks briskly. She is tall, with dark brown skin and short hair. Pretty.<br/><br/>I nod.<br/><br/>“I’m Christina,” she says, offering me her hand.<br/><br/>I haven’t shaken a hand in a long time either.  The Abnegation greeted one another by bowing heads, a sign of respect.  I take her hand, uncertainly, and shake it twice, hoping I didn’t squeeze too hard or not hard enough.<br/><br/>“Beatrice,” I say.</p><p>“Do you know where we’re going?” She has to shout over the wind, which blows harder through the open doors by the second.  The train is picking up speed.  I sit down.  It will be easier to keep my balance if I’m low to the ground.  She raises an eyebrow at me.<br/><br/>“A fast train means wind,” I say.  “Wind means falling out.  Get down.”<br/><br/>Christina sits next to me, inching back to lean against the wall.<br/><br/>“I guess we’re going to Dauntless headquarters,” I say, “but I don’t know where that is.”<br/><br/>“Does anyone?” She shakes her head, grinning.  “It’s like they just popped out of a hole in the ground or something.”<br/><br/>Then the wind rushes through the car, and the other faction transfers, hit with bursts of air, fall on top of one another.  I watch Christina laugh without hearing her and manage a smile.</p><p>Over my left shoulder, orange light from the setting sun reflects off the glass buildings, and I can faintly see the rows of grey houses that used to be my home.<br/><br/>It’s Caleb’s turn to make dinner tonight. Who will take his place—my mother or my father?  And when they clear out his room, what will they discover?  I imagine books jammed between the dresser and the wall, books under his mattress.  The Erudite thirst for knowledge filling all the hidden places in his room.  Did he always know that he would choose Erudite?  And if he did, how did I not notice?<br/><br/>What a good actor he was.  The thought makes me sick to my stomach, because even though I left them too, at least I was no good at pretending.  At least they all knew that I wasn’t selfless, that I wouldn’t stay.<br/><br/>I close my eyes and picture my mother and father sitting at the dinner table in silence.  Is it a lingering hint of selflessness that makes my throat tighten at the thought of them, or is it selfishness, because I know I will never be their daughter again?</p><p>“They’re jumping off!”<br/><br/>I lift my head.  My neck aches.  I have been curled up with my back against the wall for at least a half-hour, listening to the roaring wind and watching the city smear past us.  I sit forward.  The train has slowed down in the past few minutes, and I see that the boy who shouted is right: The Dauntless in the cars ahead of us are jumping out as the train passes a rooftop.  The tracks are seven stories up.</p><p>The idea of leaping out of a moving train onto a rooftop, knowing there is a gap between the edge of the roof and the edge of the track, makes me want to throw up.  I push myself up and stumble to the opposite side of the car, where the other faction transfers stand in a line.<br/><br/>“We have to jump off too, then,” a Candor girl says.  She has a large nose and crooked teeth.<br/><br/>“Great,” a Candor boy replies, “because that makes perfect sense, Molly.  Leap off a train onto a roof.”<br/><br/>“This is kind of what we signed up for, Peter,” the girl points out.<br/><br/>“Well, I’m not doing it,” says an Amity boy behind me.  He has olive skin and wears a brown shirt—he is the only transfer from Amity.  His cheeks shine with tears.<br/><br/>“You’ve got to,” Christina says, “or you fail.  Come on, it’ll be all right.”</p><p>“No, it won’t!  I’d rather be factionless than dead!” The Amity boy shakes his head. He sounds panicky.  He keeps shaking his head and staring at the rooftop, which is getting closer by the second.<br/><br/>I don’t agree with him.  I would rather be dead than empty, like the factionless.<br/><br/>“You can’t force him,” I say, glancing at Christina.  Her brown eyes are wide, and she presses her lips together so hard they change colour.  She offers me her hand.</p><p>“Here,” she says.  I raise an eyebrow at her hand, about to say that I don’t need help, but she adds, “I just…can't do it unless someone drags me.”<br/><br/>I take her hand and we stand at the edge of the car.  As it passes the roof, I count, “One…two…three!”<br/><br/>On three we launch off the train car.  A weightless moment, and then my feet slam into solid ground and pain prickles through my shins. The jarring landing sends me sprawling on the rooftop, gravel under my cheek.  I release Christina’s hand.  She’s laughing and I soon join her.  What a rush.<br/><br/>“That was fun,” she says.</p><p>Christina will fit in with Dauntless thrill-seekers.  I brush grains of rock from my cheek. All the initiates except the Amity boy made it onto the roof, with varying levels of success.  The Candor girl with crooked teeth, Molly, holds her ankle, wincing, and Peter, the Candor boy with shiny hair, grins proudly—he must have landed on his feet.<br/><br/>Then I hear a wail.  I turn my head, searching for the source of the sound. A Dauntless girl stands at the edge of the roof, staring at the ground below, screaming. Behind her, a Dauntless boy holds her at the waist to keep her from falling off.<br/><br/>“Rita,” he says.  “Rita, calm down. Rita—”<br/><br/>I stand and look over the edge.  There is a body on the pavement below us; a girl, her arms and legs bent at awkward angles, her hair spread in a fan around her head.  My stomach sinks and I stare at the railroad tracks.  Not everyone made it.  And even the Dauntless aren’t safe.<br/><br/>Rita sinks to her knees, sobbing.  I turn away.  The longer I watch her, the more likely I am to cry, and I can’t cry in front of these people.<br/><br/>I tell myself, as sternly as possible, that is how things work here. We do dangerous things and people die.  People die, and we move on to the next dangerous thing.  The sooner that lesson sinks in, the better chance I have at surviving initiation.</p><p>I’m no longer sure that I will survive initiation.<br/><br/>I tell myself I will count to three, and when I’m done, I will move on. One. I picture the girl’s body on the pavement, and a shudder goes through me. Two. I hear Rita’s sobs and the murmured reassurance of the boy behind her. Three.<br/><br/>My lips pursed, I walk away from Rita and the roof’s edge.<br/><br/>My elbow stings.  I pull my sleeve up to examine it, my hands shaking.  Some of the skin is peeling off, but it isn’t bleeding.<br/><br/>“Ooh.  Scandalous!  A Stiff’s flashing some skin!”<br/><br/>I lift my head.  “Stiff” is slang for Abnegation, and I’m the only one here.  Peter points at me, smirking.  I hear laughter.  My cheeks heat up.  I roll both my sleeves up over my grazed elbows to let it breathe.</p><p>“Listen up! My name is Max!  I am one of the leaders of your new faction!” shouts a man at the other end of the roof.  He is older than the others, with deep creases in his dark skin and grey hair at his temples, and he stands on the ledge like it’s a sidewalk.  Like someone didn’t just fall to her death from it.  “Several stories below us is the members’ entrance to our compound.  If you can’t muster the will to jump off, you don’t belong here.  Our initiates have the privilege of going first.”<br/><br/>“You want us to jump off a ledge?” asks an Erudite girl.  She is a few inches taller than I am, with mousy brown hair and big lips.  Her mouth hangs open.<br/><br/>I don’t know why it shocks her.<br/><br/>“Yes,” Max says.  He looks amused.<br/><br/>“Is there water at the bottom or something?”<br/><br/>“Who knows?” He raises his eyebrows.<br/><br/>The crowd in front of the initiates splits in half, making a wide path for us.  I look around.  No one looks eager to leap off the building—their eyes are everywhere but on Max.  Some of them nurse minor wounds or brush gravel from their clothes.  I glance at Peter.  He is picking at one of his cuticles.  Trying to act casual.</p><p>I am proud. It will get me into trouble someday, but today it makes me brave. I walk toward the ledge and hear snickers behind me.<br/><br/>Max steps aside, leaving my way clear.  I walk up to the edge and look down.  Wind whips through my clothes.  The building I’m on forms one side of a square with three other buildings.  In the centre of the square is a huge hole in the concrete.  I can’t see what’s at the bottom of it.</p><p>This is a scare tactic.  I will land safely at the bottom.  That knowledge is the only thing that helps me step onto the ledge.  My teeth chatter.  I can’t back down now. Not with all the people betting I’ll fail behind me.  My hands fumble along the collar of my shirt and find the button that secures it shut.  After a few tries, I undo the hooks from collar to hem and pull it off my shoulders.<br/><br/>Beneath it, I wear a grey T-shirt.  It is tighter than any other clothes I own, and no one has ever seen me in it before.  I ball up my outer shirt and look over my shoulder, at Peter.  I throw the ball of fabric at him as hard as I can, my jaw clenched. It hits him in the chest.  He stares at me.  I hear catcalls and shouts behind me.</p><p>I look at the hole again. Goosebumps rise on my pale arms and my stomach lurches. If I don’t do it now, I won’t be able to do it at all. I swallow hard.<br/><br/>I don’t think.  I just bend my knees and jump.<br/><br/>The air howls in my ears as the ground surges toward me, growing and expanding, or I surge toward the ground, my heart pounding so fast it hurts, every muscle in my body tensing as the falling sensation drags at my stomach. The hole surrounds me, and I drop into darkness.<br/><br/>I hit something hard.  It gives way beneath me and cradles my body.  The impact knocks the wind out of me, and I wheeze, struggling to breathe again.  My arms and legs sting.<br/><br/>A net.  There is a net at the bottom of the hole.  I look up at the building and laugh, half relieved and half hysterical.  My body shakes and I cover my face with my hands.  I just jumped off a roof.  I am so glad I didn’t wear a dress today.</p><p> I have to stand on solid ground again.  I see a few hands stretching out to me at the edge of the net, so I grab the first one I can reach and pull myself across.  I roll-off, and I would have fallen face-first onto a wood floor if he had not caught me.</p><p>His hands grip my arms, but he releases me a moment after I stand upright again.<br/><br/>“Thank you,” I say.<br/><br/>We stand on a platform ten feet above the ground.  Around us is an open cavern.<br/><br/>“Can’t believe it,” a voice says from behind him.  It belongs to a dark-haired girl with three silver rings through her right eyebrow.  She smirks at me.  “A Stiff, the first to jump?  Unheard of.”<br/><br/>“There’s a reason why she left them, Lauren,” he says.  His voice is deep. “What’s your name?”<br/><br/>“Um…” I don’t know why I hesitate.  But “Beatrice” just doesn’t sound right anymore.<br/><br/>“Think about it,” he says, a faint smile curling his lips.  “You don’t get to pick again.”<br/><br/>A new place, a new name.  I can be remade here.<br/><br/>“Tris,” I say firmly.<br/><br/>“Tris,” Lauren repeats, grinning.  “Make the announcement, Four.”<br/><br/>The boy—Four—looks over his shoulder and shouts, “First jumper—Tris!”<br/><br/>A crowd materializes from the darkness as my eyes adjust.  They cheer and pump their fists, and then another person drops into the net.  Her screams follow her down.  Christina.  Everyone laughs, but they follow their laughter with more cheering.<br/><br/>Four sets his hand on my back and says, “Welcome to Dauntless.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter seven</p>
<p>When all the initiates stand on solid ground again, Lauren and Four lead us down a narrow tunnel.  The walls are made of stone, and the ceiling slopes, so I feel like I am descending deep into the heart of the earth.  The tunnel is lit at long intervals, so in the dark space between each dim lamp, I fear that I am lost until a shoulder bumps mine.  In the circles of light, I am safe again.</p>
<p>The Erudite boy in front of me stops abruptly, and I smack into him, hitting my nose on his shoulder.  I stumble back and rub my nose as I recover my senses.  The whole crowd has stopped, and our three leaders stand in front of us, arms folded.<br/><br/>“This is where we divide,” Lauren says.  “The Dauntless-born initiates are with me.  I assume you don’t need a tour of the place.”<br/><br/>She smiles and beckons toward the Dauntless-born initiates.  They break away from the group and dissolve into the shadows.  I watch the last heel pass out of the light and look at those of us who are left.  Most of the initiates were from Dauntless, so only nine people remain.  Of those, I am the only Abnegation transfer, and there are no Amity transfers.  The rest are from Erudite and, surprisingly, Candor.  It must require bravery to be honest all the time.  I wouldn’t know.</p>
<p>Four addresses us next.  “Most of the time I work in the control room, but for the next few weeks, I am your instructor,” he says.  “My name is Four.”<br/><br/>Christina asks, “Four?  Like the number?”<br/><br/>“Yes,” Four says.  “Is there a problem?”<br/><br/>“No.”<br/><br/>“Good.  We’re about to go into the Pit, which you will someday learn to love.  It—”<br/><br/>Christina snickers.  “The Pit?  Clever name.”<br/><br/>Four walks up to Christina and leans his face close to hers.  His eyes narrow, and for a second he just stares at her.<br/><br/>“What’s your name?” he asks quietly.<br/><br/>“Christina,” she squeaks.<br/><br/>“Well, Christina, if I wanted to put up with Candor smart-mouths, I would have joined their faction,” he hisses. “The first lesson you will learn from me is to keep your mouth shut.  Got that?”<br/><br/>She nods.<br/><br/>Four starts toward the shadow at the end of the tunnel.  The crowd of initiates moves on in silence.<br/><br/>“What a jerk,” she mumbles.<br/><br/>“I guess he doesn’t like to be laughed at,” I reply.<br/><br/>It would probably be wise to be careful around Four, I realize.  He seemed placid to me on the platform, but something about that stillness makes me wary now.<br/><br/>Four pushes a set of double doors open, and we walk into the place he called “the Pit.”<br/><br/>“Oh,” whispers Christina. “I get it.”</p>
<p>“Pit” is the best word for it.  It is an underground cavern so huge I can’t see the other end of it from where I stand, at the bottom.  Uneven rock walls rise several stories above my head.  Built into the stone walls are places for food, clothing, supplies, leisure activities.  Narrow paths and steps carved from rock connect them.  There are no barriers to keep people from falling over the side.<br/><br/>A slant of orange light stretches across one of the rock walls.  Forming the roof of the Pit are panes of glass and, above them, a building that lets in sunlight.  It must have looked like just another city building when we passed it on the train.<br/><br/>Blue lanterns dangle at random intervals above the stone paths, similar to the ones that lit the Choosing room.  They grow brighter as the sunlight dies.</p>
<p>People are everywhere, all dressed in black, all shouting and talking, expressive, gesturing.  I don’t see any elderly people in the crowd.  Are there any old Dauntless?  Do they not last that long, or are they just sent away when they can’t jump off moving trains anymore?<br/><br/>A group of children run down a narrow path with no railing, so fast my heart pounds, and I want to scream at them to slow down before they get hurt.  A memory of the orderly Abnegation streets appears in my mind: a line of people on the right passing a line of people on the left, small smiles and inclined heads and silence.  There is something wonderful about Dauntless chaos.<br/><br/>“If you follow me,” says Four, “I’ll show you the chasm.”</p>
<p>He waves us forward.  Four’s appearance seems tame from the front, by Dauntless standards, but when he turns around, I see a tattoo peeking out from the collar of his T-shirt.  He leads us to the right side of the Pit, which is conspicuously dark.  I squint and see that the floor I stand on now ends at an iron barrier.  As we approach the railing, I hear a roar—water, fast-moving water, crashing against rocks.<br/><br/>I look over the side.  The floor drops off at a sharp angle, and several stories below us is a river.  Gushing water strikes the wall beneath me and sprays upward.  To my left, the water is calmer, but to my right, it is white, battling with rock.<br/><br/>“The chasm reminds us that there is a fine line between bravery and idiocy!” Four shouts.  “A daredevil jump off this ledge will end your life.  It has happened before, and it will happen again.  You’ve been warned.”</p>
<p>“This is incredible,” says Christina, as we all move away from the railing.<br/><br/>“Incredible is the word,” I say, nodding.<br/><br/>Four leads the group of initiates across the Pit toward a gaping hole in the wall.  The room beyond is well-lit enough that I can see where we’re going: a dining hall full of people and clattering silverware.  When we walk in, the Dauntless inside stand.  They applaud.  They stamp their feet.  They shout.  The noise surrounds me and fills me.  Christina smiles, and a second later, so do I.<br/><br/>We look for empty seats.  Christina and I discover a mostly empty table at the side of the room, and I find myself sitting between her and Four.  In the centre of the table is a platter of food I don’t recognize circular pieces of meat wedged between round bread slices.  I pinch one between my fingers, unsure what to make of it.</p>
<p>Four nudges me with his elbow.<br/><br/>“It’s beef,” he says.  “Put this on it.” He passes me a small bowl full of red sauce.<br/><br/>“You’ve never had a hamburger before?” asks Christina, her eyes wide.<br/><br/>“No,” I say.  “Is that what it’s called?”<br/><br/>“Stiffs eat plain food,” Four says, nodding at Christina.<br/><br/>“Why?” she asks.<br/><br/>I shrug.  “Extravagance is considered self-indulgent and unnecessary.”<br/><br/>She smirks.  “No wonder you left.”<br/><br/>“Yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes.  “It was just because of the food.”<br/><br/>The corner of Four’s mouth twitches.</p>
<p>The doors to the cafeteria open and a hush falls over the room.  I look over my shoulder.  A young man walks in, and it is quiet enough that I can hear his footsteps.  His face is pierced in so many places I lose count, and his hair is long, dark.  On his neck is a stark, black tattoo and his cold eyes make him look menacing.</p>
<p>“Who’s that?” I ask.<br/><br/>“His name is Eric,” says Four.  “He’s a Dauntless leader.”<br/><br/>“Seriously?  But he’s so young.”<br/><br/>Four gives me a grave look.  “Age doesn’t matter here.”</p>
<p>Then what does matter?</p>
<p>Eric’s eyes stop scanning the room, and he starts toward a table.  He starts toward our table and drops into the seat next to Four.  He offers no greeting, so neither do we.</p>
<p>“Well, aren’t you going to introduce me?” he asks, nodding to Christina and me.<br/><br/>Four says, “This is Tris and Christina.”<br/><br/>“Ooh, a Stiff,” says Eric, smirking at me.  His smile pulls at the piercings in his lips, making the holes they occupy wider, and I stare.  “We’ll see how long you last.”</p>
<p>I mean to say something—to assure him that I will last, maybe—but words fail me.  I don’t understand why.</p>
<p>He taps his fingers against the table.  His knuckles are scabbed over, right where they would split if he punched something too hard.<br/><br/>“What have you been doing lately, Four?” he asks.<br/><br/>Four lifts a shoulder. “Nothing, really,” he says.</p>
<p>Are they friends?  My eyes flick between Eric and Four.  Everything Eric did—sitting here, asking about Four—suggests that they are, but the way Four sits, tense as pulled wire, suggests they are something else.  Rivals, maybe, but how could that be, if Eric is a leader and Four is not?<br/><br/>“Max tells me he keeps trying to meet with you, and you don’t show up,” Eric says.  “He requested that I find out what’s going on with you.”<br/><br/>Four looks at Eric for a few seconds before saying, “Tell him that I am satisfied with the position I currently hold.”<br/><br/>“So he wants to give you a job.”</p>
<p>The rings in Eric’s eyebrow catch the light.  Maybe Eric perceives Four as a potential threat to his position.  My father says that those who want power and get it live in terror of losing it.  That’s why we have to give power to those who do not want it.<br/><br/>“So it would seem,” Four says.<br/><br/>“And you aren’t interested.”<br/><br/>“I haven’t been interested for two years.”<br/><br/>“Well,” says Eric. “Let’s hope he gets the point, then.”</p>
<p>He claps Four on the shoulder, a little too hard, and gets up.  When he walks away, I stare after him for a moment before looking back at Four.<br/><br/>“Are you two…friends?” I say, unable to contain my curiosity.<br/><br/>“We were in the same initiate class,” he says.  “He transferred from Erudite.”<br/><br/>All thoughts of being careful around Four leave me.  “Were you a transfer too?”<br/><br/>“I thought I would only have trouble with the Candor asking too many questions,” he says coldly.  “Now I’ve got Stiffs, too?”<br/><br/>“It must be because you’re so approachable,” I say flatly.  “You know.  Like a bed of nails.”<br/><br/>He stares at me, and I don’t look away.  He isn’t a dog, but the same rules apply.  Looking away is submissive.  Looking him in the eye is a challenge.  It’s my choice.</p>
<p>“Careful, Tris.”<br/><br/>My stomach drops like I just swallowed a stone.  A Dauntless member at another table calls out Four’s name, and I turn to Christina.  She raises both eyebrows.<br/><br/>“What?” I ask.<br/><br/>“I’m developing a theory.”<br/><br/>“And it is?”<br/><br/>She picks up her hamburger, grins, and says, “That you have a death wish.”</p>
<p>After dinner, Four disappears without a word.  Eric leads us down a series of hallways without telling us where we’re going.  I don’t know why a Dauntless leader would be responsible for a group of initiates, but maybe it is just for tonight.<br/><br/>At the end of each hallway is a blue lamp, but between them it’s dark, and I have to be careful not to stumble over uneven ground.  Christina walks beside me in silence.  No one told us to be quiet, but none of us speak.<br/><br/>Eric stops in front of a wooden door and folds his arms.  We gather around him.</p>
<p>“For those of you who don’t know, my name is Eric,” he says.  “I am one of five leaders of the Dauntless.  We take the initiation process very seriously here, so I volunteered to oversee most of your training.”<br/><br/>The thought makes me nauseous.  The idea that a Dauntless leader will oversee our initiation is making me nervous.</p>
<p>“Some ground rules,” he says.  “You have to be in the training room by eight o’clock every day.  Training takes place every day from eight to six, with a break for lunch.  You are free to do whatever you like after six.  You will also get some time off between each stage of initiation.”</p>
<p>The phrase “do whatever you like” sticks in my mind.  At home, I could never do what I wanted, not even for an evening.  I had to think of other people’s needs first.  I don’t even know what I like to do.</p>
<p>“You are only permitted to leave the compound when accompanied by a Dauntless,” Eric adds.  “Behind this door is the room where you will be sleeping for the next few weeks.  You will notice that there are ten beds and only nine of you.  We anticipated that a higher proportion of you would make it this far.”</p>
<p>“But we started with twelve,” protests Christina.  I close my eyes and wait for the reprimand.  She needs to learn to stay quiet.<br/><br/>“There is always at least one transfer who doesn’t make it to the compound,” says Eric, picking at his cuticles.  He shrugs.  “Anyway, in the first stage of initiation, we keep transfers and Dauntless-born initiates separate, but that doesn’t mean you are evaluated separately.  At the end of initiation, your rankings will be determined in comparison with the Dauntless-born initiates.  And they are better than you are already.  So, I expect—”<br/><br/>“Rankings?” asks the mousy-haired Erudite girl to my right.  “Why are we ranked?”<br/><br/>Eric smiles, and in the blue light, his smile looks wicked, like it was cut into his face with a knife.</p>
<p>“Your ranking serves two purposes,” he says.  “The first is that it determines the order in which you will select a job after initiation.  There are only a few desirable positions available.”<br/><br/>My stomach tightens.  I know by looking at his smile that something bad is about to happen.<br/><br/>“The second purpose,” he says, “is that only the top ten initiates are made members.”</p>
<p>Pain stabs my stomach.  We all stand still as statues.  And then Christina says, “What?”<br/><br/>“There are eleven Dauntless-borns, and nine of you,” Eric continues.  “Four initiates will be cut at the end of stage one.  The remainder will be cut after the final test.”<br/><br/>That means that even if we make it through each stage of initiation, six initiates will not be members.  I see Christina look at me from the corner of my eye, but I can’t look back at her.  My eyes are fixed on Eric and will not move.<br/><br/>My odds, as the smallest initiate, as the only Abnegation transfer, are not good.<br/><br/>“What do we do if we’re cut?” Peter says.<br/><br/>“You leave the Dauntless compound,” says Eric indifferently, “and live factionless.”<br/><br/>The mousy-haired girl clamps her hand over her mouth and stifles a sob.  I remember the factionless man with the grey teeth, snatching the bag of apples from my hands.  His dull, staring eyes.  But instead of crying, like the Erudite girl, I feel colder.  Harder.  Braver.</p>
<p>I will be a member.  I will.<br/><br/>“But that’s…not fair!” the broad-shouldered Candor girl, Molly, says.  Even though she sounds angry, she looks terrified.  “If we had known—”<br/><br/>“Are you saying that if you had known this before the Choosing Ceremony, you wouldn’t have chosen Dauntless?” Eric snaps.  “Because if that’s the case, you should get out now.  If you are really one of us, it won’t matter to you that you might fail.  And if it does, you are a coward.”</p>
<p>Eric pushes the door to the dormitory open and gestures for us to go inside.<br/><br/>“You chose us,” he says.  “Now we have to choose you.”</p>
<p>As we go inside, I immediately notice something and I’m not the only one.</p>
<p>“Co-ed?” Christina squeaks.</p>
<p>Eric looks at her “You should have no problem with that Candor, I’m sure you're used to everything being out in the open,” He then turns to the rest of us.  “There are clothes of all sizes in the lockers in the back change into those and then I’ll give you a tour of the rest of the places you need to know.”</p>
<p>We all go and grab some clothing that fits and then we all pick a bunk and get dressed.</p>
<p>Peter snickers “What are you waiting for Stiff, take your clothes off!  Oh, wait I forgot all you stiff are stuck up prigs!”</p>
<p>Anger rushed through me as I turned slowly to make eye contact with peter before I reached drown and pulled off my top.  I then slipped off my shoes and wiggled out of my stolen slacks.</p>
<p>I raised an eyebrow “Were you saying something about my upbringing Peter?”</p>
<p>I then maintained eye contact as I put on my new Dauntless clothing which fit much better.  Peter looked away first and I smirked before walking towards the door.  Where I promptly blushed, having not noticed until now that Eric was still standing at the door and had just seen everything.</p>
<p>I continued on past him to wait in the hallway but not before Eric commented: “Well now that we’ve all seen that the stiff is not really a stiff the rest of you should hurry up and finish getting changed.” He then turned and joined me in the hall where he then looked me up and down.</p>
<p>“That is not an Abnegation body you’ve got there.  Those are actual muscles.”</p>
<p>I look away from his gaze.  “I’ve always known I wasn’t cut out for Abnegation so when I worked out that Dauntless was where I belonged, I began to train as much as I could.  Picked up a lot of manual labour for volunteering.” I whisper into the hallway.</p>
<p>“Maybe you’re not as hopeless as I thought.”</p>
<p>Before I could say anything more the rest of the transfers joined us in the halls, with Christina sliding up to me with a concerned look.</p>
<p> We then spent the rest of the evening being shown where the gyms, shooting range, cafeteria, shops and garage are before he leads us back to our dorm and told us to be at the gym for eight then next morning.</p>
<p>So now I lie in bed and listen to nine people breathing.</p>
<p>I used to have my own room.  I could see the front lawn from the window, and beyond it, the foggy skyline.  I am used to sleeping in silence.<br/><br/>Heat swells behind my eyes as I think of home, and when I blink, a tear slips out.  I cover my mouth to stifle a sob.<br/><br/>I can’t cry, not here.  I must calm down.<br/><br/>It will be all right here.  I can look at my reflection whenever I want.  I can befriend Christina, and cut my hair short, and let other people clean up their own messes.</p>
<p>I take deep breathes and feel my heart rate slow.</p>
<p>A strangled sound interrupts the breathing, followed by a heavy sob.  Bedsprings squeal as a large body turns, and a pillow muffles the sobs, but not enough.  They come from the bunk above me—they belong to a Candor boy, Al, the largest and broadest of all the initiates.  He is the last person I expected to break down.<br/><br/>His feet are just inches from my head.  I should comfort him—I should want to comfort him because I was raised that way.  Instead, I feel disgusted.  Someone who looks so strong shouldn’t act so weak.  Why can’t he just keep his crying quite like the rest of us?<br/><br/>I swallow hard.</p>
<p>If my mother knew what I was thinking, I know what look she would give me.  The corners of her mouth turned down.  Her eyebrows set low over her eyes—not scowling, almost tired.  I drag the heel of my hand over my cheeks.<br/><br/>Al sobs again.  I almost feel the sound grate in my own throat.  He is just inches away from me—I should touch him.<br/><br/>No. I put my hand down and roll onto my side, facing the wall.  No one has to know that I don’t want to help him.  I can keep that secret buried.  My eyes shut and I feel the pull of sleep, but every time I come close, I hear Al again.</p>
<p>Maybe my problem isn’t that I can’t go home.  I will miss my mother and father and Caleb and evening firelight and the clack of my mother’s knitting needles, but that is not the only reason for this hollow feeling in my stomach.<br/><br/>My problem might be that even if I did go home, I wouldn’t belong there, among people who give without thinking and care without trying.<br/><br/>The thought makes me grit my teeth. I gather the pillow around my ears to block out Al’s crying and fall asleep.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Eight</p><p>I woke in the morning at my usual time.  I didn’t think I could get away with going for a run, so I did some sit-ups, push-ups and crunches in the bathroom to keep from waking anyone.</p><p>I was halfway through some cool-down stretches when everyone started to wake up.  I hopped into the shower and changed into some clean clothes and waited for Christina to be ready.</p><p>Christina, Al, an Erudite named Will, and I all walk to breakfast together before we head to the gym.</p><p>“The first thing you will learn today is how to shoot a gun.  The second thing is how to win a fight.”  Four presses a gun into my palm without looking at me and keeps walking.  “Thankfully, if you are here, you already know how to get on and off a moving train, so I don’t need to teach you that.”<br/><br/>I shouldn’t be surprised that the Dauntless expect us to hit the ground running, but I anticipated more than six hours of rest before the running began.</p><p>“Initiation is divided into three stages.  We will measure your progress and rank you according to your performance in each stage.  The stages are not weighed equally in determining your final rank, so it is possible, though difficult, to drastically improve your rank over time.”<br/><br/>I stare at the weapon in my hand.  Never in my life did I expect to hold a gun, let alone fire one.  It feels dangerous to me as if just by touching it, I could hurt someone.<br/><br/>“We believe that preparation eradicates cowardice, which we define as the failure to act in the midst of fear,” says Four.  “Therefore, each stage of initiation is intended to prepare you in a different way.  The first stage is primarily physical; the second, primarily emotional; the third, primarily mental.”<br/><br/>“But what…” Peter yawns through his words.  “What does firing a gun have to do with…bravery?”</p><p>Four flips the gun in his hand, presses the barrel to Peter’s forehead, and clicks a bullet into place.  Peter freezes with his lips parted the yawn dead in his mouth.<br/><br/>“Wake.  Up,” Four snaps.  “You are holding a loaded gun, you idiot.  Act like it.”<br/><br/>He lowers the gun.  Once the immediate threat is gone, Peter’s green eyes harden.  I’m surprised he can stop himself from responding, after speaking his mind all his life in Candor, but he does, his cheeks red.<br/><br/>“And to answer your question…you are far less likely to soil your pants and cry for your mother if you’re prepared to defend yourself.” Four stops walking at the end of the row and turns on his heel.  “This is also information you may need later in stage one.  So, watch me.”</p><p>He faces the wall with the targets on it—one square of plywood with three red circles on it for each of us.  He stands with his feet apart, holds the gun in both hands, and fires.  The bang is so loud it hurts my ears.  I crane my neck to look at the target.  The bullet went through the middle circle.<br/><br/>I turn to my own target.  My family would never approve of me firing a gun.  They would say that guns are used for self-defence, if not violence, and therefore they are self-serving.</p><p>I push my family from my mind, set my feet shoulder-width apart, and delicately wrap both hands around the handle of the gun.  It’s heavy but I want it to be as far from my face as possible.  I squeeze the trigger, hesitantly at first and then harder, cringing away from the gun.  The sound hurts my ears, and the recoil sends my hands back, toward my nose.  I stumble, pressing my hand to the wall behind me for balance.  I don’t know where my bullet went, but I know it’s not near the target.</p><p>I fire again and again and again, and none of the bullets come close.<br/><br/>“Statistically speaking,” Will says, grinning at me, “you should have hit the target at least once by now, even by accident.” He is blond, with shaggy hair and a crease between his eyebrows.<br/><br/>“Is that so,” I say without inflexion.<br/><br/>“Yeah,” he says.  “I think you’re actually defying nature.”<br/><br/>I grit my teeth and turn toward the target, resolving to at least standstill.  If I can’t master the first task, they give us, how will I ever make it through stage one?</p><p>I take a deep breath and slowly pull the trigger, this time I’m ready for the trigger.  It shocks my joints, but my feet stay planted.  A bullet hole appears next to the outer ring of the target and I grin and raise an eyebrow at Will.</p><p>“So, you see, I’m right.  The stats don’t lie,” he says.<br/><br/>I smile a little.<br/><br/>It takes me five rounds to hit the middle of the target, and when I do, a rush of energy goes through me.  I am awake, my eyes wide open, my hands warm.  I lower the gun.  There is power in controlling something that can do so much damage—in controlling something, period.</p><p>Maybe I do belong here.<br/><br/>By the time we break for lunch, my arms throb from holding up the gun and my fingers are hard to straighten.  I massage them on my way to the dining hall.  Al sits with us again.  Every time I look at him, I hear his sobs again, so I try not to look at him.</p><p>“Oh, come on.  You don’t remember me?” Christina asks Al as she makes a sandwich.  “We were in Math together just a few days ago.  And I am not a quiet person.”<br/><br/>“I slept through Math most of the time,” Al replies.  “It was first hour!”</p><p>“Tris,” says Christina.  She snaps her fingers in front of my face.  “You in there?”<br/><br/>“What?  What is it?”<br/><br/>“I asked if you remember ever taking a class with me,” she says.  “I mean, no offence, but I probably wouldn’t remember if you did.  All the Abnegation looked the same to me.  I mean, they still do, but now you’re not one of them.”</p><p>I stare at her.  As if I need her to remind me.<br/><br/>“Sorry, am I being rude?” she asks.  “I’m used to just saying whatever is on my mind.  Mom used to say that politeness is deception in pretty packaging.”<br/><br/>“I think that’s why our factions don’t usually associate with each other,” I say, with a short laugh.  Candour and Abnegation don’t hate each other the way Erudite and Abnegation do, but they avoid each other.  Candour’s real problem is with Amity.  Those who seek peace above all else, they say, will always deceive to keep the water calm.</p><p>“Can I sit here?” says Will, tapping the table with his finger.<br/><br/>“What, you don’t want to hang out with your Erudite buddies?” says Christina.<br/><br/>“They aren’t my buddies,” says Will, setting his plate down.  “Just because we were in the same faction doesn’t mean we get along.  Plus, Edward and Myra are dating, and I would rather not be the third wheel.”<br/><br/>Edward and Myra, the other Erudite transfers, sit two tables away, so close they bump elbows as they cut their food.  Myra pauses to kiss Edward.  I watch them carefully.  I’ve only seen a few kisses in my life.</p><p>Edward turns his head and presses his lips to Myra’s.  Air hisses between my teeth, and I look away.  Part of me waits for them to be scolded.  Another part wonders, with a touch of desperation, what it would feel like to have someone’s lips against mine.<br/><br/>“Do they have to be so public?” I say.<br/><br/>“She just kissed him.” Al frowns at me.  When he frowns, his thick eyebrows touch his eyelashes.  “It’s not like they’re stripping naked.”<br/><br/>“A kiss is not something you do in public.”<br/><br/>Al, Will, and Christina all give me the same knowing smile.<br/><br/>“What?” I say.<br/><br/>“Your Abnegation is showing,” says Christina.  “The rest of us are all right with a little affection in public.”<br/><br/>“Oh.” I shrug.  “Well…I guess I’ll have to get over it, then.”<br/><br/>“Or you can stay frigid,” says Will, his green eyes glinting with mischief.  “You know.  If you want.”<br/><br/>Christina throws a roll at him.  He catches it and bites it.<br/><br/>“Don’t be mean to her,” she says.  “Frigidity is in her nature.  Sort of like being a know-it-all is in yours.”<br/><br/>“I am not frigid!” I exclaim.<br/><br/>“Don’t worry about it,” says Will.  “It’s endearing.  Look, you’re all red.”<br/><br/>The comment only makes my face hotter.  Everyone else chuckles.  I force a laugh, and, after a few seconds, it comes naturally.<br/><br/>It feels good to laugh again.</p><p>After lunch, Four leads us to a new room.  It’s huge, with a wood floor that is cracked and creaky and has a large circle painted in the middle.  On the left wall is a green board—a chalkboard.  My Lower Levels teacher used one, but I haven’t seen one since then.  Maybe it has something to do with Dauntless priorities: training comes first, technology comes second.<br/><br/>Our names are written on the board in alphabetical order.  Hanging at three-foot intervals along one end of the room are faded black punching bags.<br/><br/>We line up behind them and Four stands in the middle, where we can all see him.</p><p>“As I said this morning,” says Four, “next you will learn how to fight.  The purpose of this is to prepare you to act; to prepare your body to respond to threats and challenges—which you will need if you intend to survive life as a Dauntless.”<br/><br/>I can’t even think of life as a Dauntless.  All I can think about is making it through initiation.<br/><br/>“We will go over technique today, and tomorrow you will start to fight each other,” says Four.  “So, I recommend that you pay attention.  Those who don’t learn fast will get hurt.”<br/><br/>Four names a few different punches, demonstrating each one as he does, first against the air and then against the punching bag.<br/><br/>I catch on as we practice.  Like with the gun, I need a few tries to figure out how to hold myself and how to move my body to make it look like his.  The kicks are more difficult, though he only teaches us the basics.  The punching bag stings my hands and feet, turning my skin red, but it is satisfying to watch the bag sway.  All around me is the sound of skin hitting tough fabric.</p><p>Four wanders through the crowd of initiates, watching us as we go through the movements again.  When he stops in front of me, my insides twist like someone’s stirring them with a fork.</p><p>“You don’t have much muscle,” he says, “which means you’re better off using your knees and elbows.  You can put more power behind them.”</p><p>Suddenly he presses a hand to my stomach.  His fingers are so long that, though the heel of his hand touches one side of my rib cage, his fingertips still touch the other side.  My heart pounds so hard my chest hurts, and I stare at him, wide-eyed.</p><p>“Never forget to keep tension here,” he says in a quiet voice.<br/><br/>Four lifts his hand and keeps walking.  I feel the pressure of his palm even after he’s gone.  It’s strange and I have to stop and breathe for a few seconds before I can keep practising again.  As the bag sways again, I look around and notice that most peoples don’t sway and I think back to Eric telling me that he was surprised that I had muscles, coming from Abnegation.  Maybe Four wasn’t paying attention and was just assuming that being a stiff meant I had no muscle.  I punch the bag again and It sways again.  I have some muscle; Christina’s bag is barely moving at all.</p><p>With renewed vigour, I go through all the punches and kicks again.</p><p>When Four dismisses us for dinner, Christina nudges me with her elbow.<br/><br/>“I’m surprised he didn’t break you in half,” she says.  She wrinkles her nose.  “He scares the hell out of me.  It’s that quiet voice he uses.”<br/><br/>“Yeah.  He’s…” I look over my shoulder at him.  He is quiet and remarkably self-possessed.  “…definitely intimidating,” I finally say.</p><p>Al, who was in front of us, turns around once we reach the Pit and announces, “I want to get a tattoo.”<br/><br/>From behind us, Will asks, “A tattoo of what?”<br/><br/>“I don’t know.” Al laughs.  “I just want to feel like I’ve actually left the old faction.  Stop crying about it.” When we don’t respond, he adds, “I know you’ve heard me.”<br/><br/>“Yeah, learn to quiet down, will you?” Christina pokes Al’s thick arm.  “I think you’re right.  We’re half in, half out right now.  If we want all the way in, we should look the part.”<br/><br/>She gives me a look.</p><p>“Fine.” I roll my eyes at the look she gives me.</p><p>Now that training is done for the day, we can do whatever we want until it’s time to sleep.  The idea makes me feel almost giddy, although that might be from fatigue.<br/><br/>The Pit is swarming with people.  Christina announces that she and I will meet Al and Will at the tattoo parlour and drags me toward the clothing place.  We stumble up the path, climbing higher above the Pit floor, scattering stones with our shoes.<br/><br/>“What is wrong with my clothes?” I say.  “I’m not wearing grey anymore.”</p><p>“They’re ugly and gigantic.” She sighs.  “Will you just let me help you?  If you don’t like what I put you in, you never have to wear it again, I promise.”<br/><br/>Ten minutes later I stand in front of a mirror in the clothing place wearing a knee-length black dress.  The skirt isn’t full, but it isn’t stuck to my thighs, either—unlike the first one she picked out, which I refused.  Goosebumps appear on my bare arms.  She slips the tie from my hair and I shake it out of its braid so it hangs wavy over my shoulders.<br/><br/>Then she holds up a black pencil.<br/><br/>“Eyeliner,” she says.<br/><br/>“You aren’t going to be able to make me pretty, you know.” I close my eyes and hold still.  She runs the tip of the pencil along the line of my eyelashes.  I imagine standing before my family in these clothes, and my stomach twists like I might be sick.<br/><br/>“Who cares about pretty?  I’m going for noticeable.”</p><p>I open my eyes and for the first-time stare openly at my own reflection.  My heart rate picks up as I do like I am breaking the rules and will be scolded for it.  It will be difficult to break the habits of thinking Abnegation instilled in me, like tugging a single thread from a complex work of embroidery.  But I will find new habits, new thoughts, new rules.  I will become something else.<br/><br/>My eyes were blue before, but a dull, greyish-blue—the eyeliner makes them piercing.  With my hair framing my face, my features look softer and fuller.  I am not pretty—my eyes are too big, and my nose is too long—but I can see that Christina is right.  My face is noticeable.<br/><br/>Looking at myself now isn’t like seeing myself for the first time; it’s like seeing someone else for the first time.  Beatrice was a girl I saw in stolen moments at the mirror, who kept quiet at the dinner table.  This is someone whose eyes claim mine and don’t release me; this is Tris.<br/><br/>“See?” she says.  “You’re…striking.”<br/><br/>Under the circumstances, it’s the best compliment she could have given me.  I smile at her in the mirror.<br/><br/>“You like it?” she says.<br/><br/>“Yeah.” I nod.  “I look like…a different person.”<br/><br/>She laughs.  “That a good thing or a bad thing?”<br/><br/>I look at myself head-on again.  For the first time, the idea of leaving my Abnegation identity behind doesn’t make me nervous; it gives me hope.<br/><br/>“A good thing.” I shake my head.  “Sorry, I’ve just never been allowed to stare at my reflection for this long.”</p><p>“Really?” Christina shakes her head.  “Abnegation is a strange faction, I have to tell you.”</p><p>“Let’s go watch Al get tattooed,” I say.  Despite the fact that I have left my old faction behind, I don’t want to criticize it yet.</p><p>At home, my mother and I picked up nearly identical stacks of clothing every six months or so.  It’s easy to allocate resources when everyone gets the same thing, but everything is more varied at the Dauntless compound.  Every Dauntless gets a certain amount of points to spend per month, and the dress costs one of them.<br/><br/>Christina and I race down the narrow path to the tattoo place.  When we get there, Al is sitting in the chair already, and a small, narrow man with more ink than bare skin is drawing a spider on his arm.</p><p>Will and Christina flip through books of pictures, elbowing each other when they find a good one.  When they sit next to each other, I notice how opposite they are, Christina dark and lean, Will pale and solid, but alike in their easy smiles.<br/><br/>I wander around the room, looking at the artwork on the walls. These days, the only artists are in Amity.  Abnegation sees art as impractical, and its appreciation as time that could be spent serving others, so though I have seen works of art in textbooks, I have never been in a decorated room before.  It makes the air feel close and warm, and I could get lost here for hours without noticing.  I skim the wall with my fingertips.  A picture of a hawk on one wall reminds me of Tori’s tattoo.  Beneath it is a sketch of a bird in flight.<br/><br/>“It’s a raven,” a voice behind me says.  “Pretty, right?”</p><p>I turn to see Tori standing there.  I feel like I am back in the aptitude test room, with the mirrors all around me and the wires connected to my forehead.  I didn’t expect to see her again.<br/><br/>“Well, hello there.” She smiles.  “Never thought I would see you again.  Beatrice is it?”<br/><br/>“Tris, actually,” I say.</p><p>“I recognize that name.  You were the first jumper, weren’t you?”<br/><br/>“Yes, I was.”<br/><br/>“Well done,” she says.  “Want a tattoo?”</p><p>The bird sketch holds my attention.  I never intended to get pierced or tattooed when I came here.  I know that if I do, it will place another wedge between me and my family that I can never remove.  And if my life here continues as it has been, it may soon be the least of the wedges between us.<br/><br/>Maybe there is a way to honour my old life as I embrace my new one.<br/><br/>“Yes,” I say. “Three of these flying birds.”<br/><br/>I touch my collarbone, marking the path of their flight—toward my heart.  One for each member of the family I left behind.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Nine</p><p>The next day I wake up early again.  I groan in pain as all my muscles complain when I get out of bed.  I have a quick shower and get dressed.  I decide to go and use the gym this morning, so I slowly jog over there through the still dark corridors.</p><p>When I arrive, I do some warmup stretches and start to run some laps.  I manage ten laps around the room in half an hour before my legs start to complain.  I then stretch them out before I have a go on the punching bags.  After fifteen minutes I’m sweating so I take a break to drink some water and stretch out before finishing with some pull-ups, push-ups, and sit-ups.  Finally exhausted I walk back to the dorm and take another shower.</p><p>Like yesterday while I’m in the shower I can hear the others start to wake up.  Christina joins me in the bathroom for a shower and I start to feel embarrassed about it before she smiles at me and I decide I need to get used to it here.  I go and get dressed and wait for her before we walk to breakfast together.</p><p>When we arrive in the gym after breakfast Four is already in there writing on the board and Eric is leaning against a wall in the back.</p><p>“Since there is an odd number of you, one of you won’t be fighting today,” says Four, stepping away from the board in the training room.  He gives me a look.  The space next to my name is blank.<br/><br/>The knot in my stomach unravels.  A reprieve.<br/><br/>“This isn’t good,” says Christina, nudging me with her elbow.  Her elbow prods one of my sore muscles—I have more sore muscles than not-sore muscles, this morning—and I wince.<br/><br/>“Ow.”<br/><br/>“Sorry,” she says.  “But look.  I’m up against the Tank.”</p><p>“The Tank?” I find Christina’s name on the board.  Written next to it is “Molly.”<br/><br/>“Yeah, Peter’s slightly more feminine-looking minion,” she says, nodding toward the cluster of people on the other side of the room.  Molly is tall like Christina, but that’s where the similarities end.  She has broad shoulders, bronze skin, and a bulbous nose.<br/><br/>“Those three”—Christina points at Peter, Drew, and Molly in turn— “have been inseparable since they crawled out of the womb, practically.  I hate them.”<br/><br/>Will and Al stand across from each other in the arena.  They put their hands up by their faces to protect themselves, as Four taught us and shuffle in a circle around each other.  Al is half a foot taller than Will and twice as broad.  As I stare at him, I realize that even his facial features are big—big nose, big lips, big eyes.  This fight won’t last long.</p><p>I glance at Peter and his friends.  Drew is shorter than both Peter and Molly, but he’s built like a boulder, and his shoulders are always hunched.  His hair is orange-red, the colour of an old carrot.<br/><br/>“What’s wrong with them?” I say.<br/><br/>“Peter is pure evil.  When we were kids, he would pick fights with people from other factions and then, when an adult came to break it up, he’d cry and make up some story about how the other kid started it.  And of course, they believed him because we were Candor, and we couldn’t lie.  Haha.”<br/><br/>Christina wrinkles her nose and adds, “Drew is just his sidekick.  I doubt he has an independent thought in his brain.  And Molly…she’s the kind of person who fries ants with a magnifying glass just to watch them flail around.”<br/><br/>In the arena, Al punches Will hard in the jaw.  I wince.  Across the room, Eric smirks at Al and turns one of the rings in his eyebrow.</p><p>Will stumbles to the side, one hand pressed to his face, and blocks Al’s next punch with his free hand.  Judging by his grimace, blocking the punch is as painful as a blow would have been.  Al is slow but powerful.<br/><br/>Peter, Drew, and Molly cast furtive looks in our direction and then pull their heads together, whispering.<br/><br/>“I think they know we’re talking about them,” I say.<br/><br/>“So? They already know I hate them.”<br/><br/>“They do?  How?”<br/><br/>Christina fakes a smile at them and waves.  I look down, my cheeks warm.</p><p>Will hooks a foot around one of Al’s legs and yanks back, knocking Al to the ground.  Al scrambles to his feet.<br/><br/>“Because I’ve told them,” she says, through the gritted teeth of her smile.  Her teeth are straight on top and crooked on the bottom.  She looks at me.  “We try to be pretty honest about our feelings in Candor.  Plenty of people have told me that they don’t like me.  And plenty of people haven’t.  Who cares?”<br/><br/>“We just…weren’t supposed to hurt people,” I say.<br/><br/>“I like to think I’m helping them by hating them,” she says.  “I’m reminding them that they aren’t God’s gift to humankind.”<br/><br/>I laugh a little at that and focus on the arena again.  Will and Al face each other for a few more seconds, more hesitant than they were before.  Will flicks his pale hair from his eyes.  They glance at Four like they’re waiting for him to call the fight off, but he stands with his arms folded, giving no response.  A few feet away from him, Eric checks his watch.<br/><br/>After a few seconds of circling, Eric shouts, “Do you think this is a leisure activity?  Should we break for naptime?  Fight each other!”</p><p>“But…” Al straightens, letting his hands down, and says, “Is it scored or something?  When does the fight end?”<br/><br/>“It ends when one of you is unable to continue,” says Eric.<br/><br/>“According to Dauntless rules,” Four says, “one of you could also concede.”<br/><br/>Eric narrows his eyes at Four.  “According to the old rules,” he says.  “In the new rules, no one concedes.”<br/><br/>“A brave man acknowledges the strength of others,” Four replies.<br/><br/>“A brave man never surrenders.”</p><p>Four and Eric stare at each other for a few seconds.  I feel like I am looking at two different kinds of Dauntless—the honourable kind, and the ruthless kind.  But even I know that in this room, it’s Eric, the youngest leader of the Dauntless, who has the authority.<br/><br/>Beads of sweat dot Al’s forehead; he wipes them with the back of his hand.<br/><br/>“This is ridiculous,” Al says, shaking his head. “What’s the point of beating him up?  We’re in the same faction!”<br/><br/>“Oh, you think it’s going to be that easy?” Will asks, grinning.  “Go on.  Try to hit me, slowpoke.”<br/><br/>Will puts his hands up again.  I see determination in Will’s eyes that wasn’t there before.  Does he really believe he can win?  One hard shot to the head and Al will knock him out cold.</p><p>That is if he can actually hit Will.  Al tries a punch, and Will ducks, the back of his neck shining with sweat.  He dodges another punch, slipping around Al and kicking him hard in the back.  Al lurches forward and turns.</p><p>When I was younger, I read a book about grizzly bears.  There was a picture of one standing on its hind legs with its paws outstretched, roaring.  That is how Al looks now.  He charges at Will, grabbing his arm so he can’t slip away, and punches him hard in the jaw.<br/><br/>I watch the light leave Will’s eyes, which are pale green, like celery.  They roll back into his head, and all the tension falls from his body.  He slips from Al’s grasp, dead weight, and crumples to the floor.  Cold rushes down my back and fills my chest.<br/><br/>Al’s eyes widen, and he crouches next to Will, tapping his cheek with one hand.  The room falls silent as we wait for Will to respond.  For a few seconds, he doesn’t, just lies on the ground with an arm bent beneath him.  Then he blinks, clearly dazed.</p><p>“Get him up,” Eric says.  He stares with greedy eyes at Will’s fallen body.<br/><br/>Four turns to the chalkboard and circles Al’s name.  Victory.<br/><br/>“Next up—Molly and Christina!” shouts Eric.  Al pulls Will’s arm across his shoulders and drags him out of the arena.<br/><br/>Christina cracks her knuckles.  I would wish her luck, but I don’t know what good that would do.  Christina isn’t weak, but she’s much narrower than Molly.  Hopefully, her height will help her.</p><p>Across the room, Four supports Will from the waist and leads him out.  Al stands for a moment by the door, watching them go.</p><p>Christina tucks her hair behind her ears.  It is chin-length, black, and pinned back with silver clips.  She cracks another knuckle.  She looks nervous, and no wonder—who wouldn’t be nervous after watching Will collapse like a rag doll?<br/><br/>If a conflict in Dauntless ends with only one person standing, I am unsure of what this part of initiation will do to me.  Will I be Al, standing over a man’s body, knowing I’m the one who put him on the ground, or will I be Will, lying in a helpless heap?  And is it selfish of me to crave victory, or is it brave?  I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants.<br/><br/>I snap to attention when Christina kicks Molly in the side.  Molly gasps and grits her teeth like she’s about to growl through them.  A lock of stringy black hair falls across her face, but she doesn’t brush it away.<br/><br/>Al stands next to me, but I’m too focused on the new fight to look at him or congratulate him on winning, assuming that’s what he wants.  I am not sure.<br/><br/>Molly smirks at Christina, and without warning, dives, hands outstretched, at Christina’s midsection.  She hits her hard, knocking her down, and pins her to the ground.  Christina thrashes, but Molly is heavy and doesn’t budge.</p><p>She punches, and Christina moves her head out of the way, but Molly just punches again, and again, until her fist hits Christina’s jaw, her nose, her mouth.  Without thinking, I grab Al’s arm and squeeze it as tightly as I can.  I just need something to hold on to.  Blood runs down the side of Christina’s face and splatters on the ground next to her cheek.  This is the first time I have ever prayed for someone to fall unconscious.<br/><br/>But she doesn’t.  Christina screams and drags one of her arms free.  She punches Molly in the ear, knocking her off-balance, and wriggles free.  She comes to her knees, holding her face with one hand.  The blood streaming from her nose is thick and dark and covers her fingers in seconds.  She screams again and crawls away from Molly.  I can tell by the heaving of her shoulders that she’s sobbing, but I can barely hear her over the throbbing in my ears.<br/><br/>Please go unconscious.<br/><br/>Molly kicks Christina’s side, sending her sprawling on her back. Al frees his hand and pulls me tight to his side.  I clench my teeth to keep from crying out.  I had no sympathy for Al the first night, but I am not cruel yet; the sight of Christina clutching her rib cage makes me want to stand between her and Molly.<br/><br/>“Stop!” wails Christina as Molly pulls her foot back to kick again. She holds out a hand.  “Stop!  I’m…” She coughs.  “I’m done.”<br/><br/>Molly smiles.  Al sighs his rib cage lifting and falling against my shoulder.  I, however, am not relieved I’m staring at Eric.  What is Christina doing, he said not ten minutes ago that there would be no conceding.  She’s just going to make him angry.<br/><br/>Eric walks toward the centre of the arena, his movements slow, and stands over Christina with his arms folded.  He says quietly, “I’m sorry, what did you say?  You’re done?”<br/><br/>Christina pushes herself to her knees.  When she takes her hand from the ground, it leaves a red handprint behind.  She pinches her nose to stop the bleeding and nods.<br/><br/>“Get up,” he says.  If he had yelled, I might not have felt like everything inside my stomach was about to come out of it.  If he had yelled, I would have known that the yelling was the worst he planned to do.  But his voice is quiet and his words precise.  He grabs Christina’s arm, yanks her to her feet, and drags her out the door.</p><p>“Follow me,” he says to the rest of us.<br/><br/>And we do.<br/><br/>I feel the roar of the river in my chest.<br/><br/>We stand near the railing.  The Pit is almost empty; it is the middle of the afternoon, though it feels like it’s been night for days.<br/><br/>If there were people around, I doubt any of them would help Christina.  We are with Eric, for one thing, and for another, the Dauntless have different rules—rules that brutality does not violate.<br/><br/>Eric shoves Christina against the railing.<br/><br/>“Climb over it,” he says.<br/><br/>“What?” She says it like she expects him to relent, but her wide eyes and ashen face suggest otherwise.  Eric will not back down.<br/><br/>“Climb over the railing,” says Eric again, pronouncing each word slowly.  “If you can hang over the chasm for five minutes, I will forget your cowardice.  If you can’t, I will not allow you to continue initiation.”<br/><br/>The railing is narrow and made of metal.  The spray from the river coats it, making it slippery and cold.  Even if Christina is brave enough to hang from the railing for five minutes, she may not be able to hold on.  Either she decides to be factionless, or she risks death.</p><p>When I close my eyes, I imagine her falling onto the jagged rocks below and shudder.<br/><br/>“Fine,” she says, her voice shaking.<br/><br/>She is tall enough to swing her leg over the railing. Her foot shakes.  She puts her toe on the ledge as she lifts her other leg over.  Facing us, she wipes her hands on her pants and holds on to the railing so hard her knuckles turn white.  Then she takes one foot off the ledge.  And the other.  I see her face between the bars of the barrier, determined, her lips pressed together.<br/><br/>Next to me, Al sets his watch.<br/><br/>For the first minute and a half, Christina is fine.  Her hands stay firm around the railing and her arms don’t shake.  I start to think she might make it and show Eric how foolish he was to doubt her.<br/><br/>But then the river hits the wall and white-water sprays against Christina’s back.  Her face strikes the barrier, and she cries out.  Her hands slip so she’s just holding on by her fingertips.  She tries to get a better grip, but now her hands are wet.<br/><br/>If I help her, Eric will make my fate the same as hers.  Will I let her fall to her death, or will I resign myself to being factionless?  What’s worse: to be idle while someone dies, or to be exiled and empty-handed?<br/><br/>My parents would have no problem answering that question.<br/><br/>But I am not my parents.<br/><br/>As far as I know, Christina hasn’t cried since we got here, but now her face crumples and she lets out a sob that is louder than the river. Another wave hits the wall, and the spray coats her body.  One of the droplets hits my cheek.  Her hands slip again, and this time, one of them falls from the railing, so she’s hanging by four fingertips.<br/><br/>“Come on, Christina,” says Al, his low voice surprisingly loud.  She looks at him.  He claps.  “Come on, grab it again.  You can do it.  Grab it.”<br/><br/>Would I even be strong enough to hold on to her?  Would it be worth my effort to try to help her if I know I’m too weak to do any good?<br/><br/>I know what those questions are: excuses.  Human reason can excuse any evil; that is why it’s so important that we don’t rely on it.  My father’s words.<br/><br/>Christina swings her arm, fumbling for the railing.  No one else cheers her on, but Al brings his big hands together and shouts, his eyes holding hers.  I wish I could; I wish I could move, but I just stare at her and wonder how long I have been this disgustingly selfish.</p><p>I stare at Al’s watch.  Four minutes have passed.  He elbows me hard in the shoulder.<br/><br/>“Come on,” I say.  My voice is a whisper.  I clear my throat.  “One-minute left,” I say, louder this time.  Christina’s other hand finds the railing again.  Her arms shake so hard I wonder if the earth is quaking beneath me, jiggling my vision, and I just didn’t notice.<br/><br/>“Come on, Christina,” Al and I say, and as our voices join, I believe I might be strong enough to help her.<br/><br/>I will help her. If she slips again, I will.<br/><br/>Another wave of water splashes against Christina’s back, and she shrieks as both her hands slip off the railing.  A scream launches from my mouth.  It sounds like it belongs to someone else.<br/><br/>But she doesn’t fall.  She grabs the bars of the barrier.  Her fingers slide down the metal until I can’t see her head anymore; they are all I see.<br/><br/>Al’s watch reads 5:00.<br/><br/>“Five minutes are up,” he says, almost spitting the words at Eric.</p><p>“Fine,” Eric says.  “You can come up, Christina.”<br/><br/>Al walks toward the railing.<br/><br/>“No,” Eric says.  “She has to do it on her own.”<br/><br/>“No, she doesn’t,” Al growls.  “She did what you said.  She’s not a coward.  She did what you said.”<br/><br/>Eric doesn’t respond.  Al reaches over the railing, and he’s so tall that he can reach Christina’s wrist.  She grabs his forearm.  Al pulls her up, his face red with frustration, and I run forward to help.  I’m too short to do much good, as I suspected, but I grip Christina under the shoulder once she’s high enough, and Al and I haul her over the barrier.  She drops to the ground, her face still blood-smeared from the fight, her back soaking wet, her body quivering.</p><p>I kneel next to her.  Her eyes lift to mine, then shift to Al, and we all catch our breath together.  Damn it, Christina.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Ten</p>
<p>That night I dream that Christina hangs from the railing again, by her toes this time.  I run forward to pull her up, but someone shoves me over the edge, and I wake before I hit the rocks.</p>
<p>Sweat-soaked and shaky from the dream, I walk to the girls’ bathroom to shower and change. I then go and do my normal workout in the gym.  When I come back from my second shower, the word “Stiff” is spray-painted across my mattress in red.  The word is written smaller along the bed frame, and again on my pillow.  I look around, my heart pounding with anger.</p>
<p>Peter stands behind me, whistling as he fluffs his pillow.  It’s hard to believe I could hate someone who looks so kind—his eyebrows turn upward naturally, and he has a wide, white smile.<br/><br/>“Nice decorations,” he says.<br/><br/>“Did I do something to you that I’m unaware of?” I demand.  I grab the corner of a sheet and yank it away from the mattress.  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we are in the same faction now.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” he says lightly.  Then he glances at me.  “And you and I will never be in the same faction.”<br/><br/>I shake my head as I remove my pillowcase from the pillow.  Don’t get angry.  He wants to get a rise out of me; he won’t.  But every time he fluffs his pillow, I think about punching him in the gut and beating him to a pulp.</p>
<p>Al walks in, and I don’t even have to ask him to help me; he just walks over and strips bedding with me. I will have to scrub the bed frame later. Al carries the stack of sheets to the trash can and together we walk toward the training room.<br/><br/>“Ignore him,” Al says.  “He’s an idiot, and if you don’t get angry, he’ll stop eventually.”<br/><br/>“Yeah.” I touch my cheeks.  They are still warm with an angry blush.  I try to distract myself.  “Did you talk to Will?” I ask quietly.  “After…you know.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.  He’s fine.  He isn’t angry.” Al sighs.  “Now I’ll always be remembered as the first guy who knocked someone out cold.”<br/><br/>“There are worse ways to be remembered.  At least they won’t antagonize you.”<br/><br/>“There are better ways too.” He nudges me with his elbow, smiling.  “First jumper.”</p>
<p>Maybe I was the first jumper, but I suspect that’s where my Dauntless fame begins and ends.<br/><br/>I clear my throat.  “One of you had to get knocked out, you know.  If it hadn’t been him, it would have been you.”<br/><br/>“Still, I don’t want to do it again.” Al shakes his head, too many times, too fast.  He sniffs.  “I really don’t.”</p>
<p>I roll my eyes.  We reach the door to the training room and I say, “But you have to.”<br/><br/>He has a kind face.  Maybe he is too kind for Dauntless.<br/><br/>I look at the chalkboard when I walk in.  I didn’t have to fight yesterday, but today I definitely will.  When I see my name, I stop in the middle of the step.<br/><br/>My opponent is Peter.</p>
<p>“Oh no,” says Christina, who shuffles in behind us.  Her face is bruised, and she looks like she is trying not to limp.  When she sees the board, she crumples the muffin wrapper she is holding into her fist.  “Are they serious? They’re really going to make you fight him?”<br/><br/>Peter is almost a foot taller than I am, and yesterday, he beat Drew in less than five minutes.  Today Drew’s face is more black-and-blue than flesh-toned.</p>
<p>“Maybe you can just take a few hits and pretend to go unconscious,” suggests Al.  “No one would blame you.”<br/><br/>“Yeah,” I say.  “Maybe.”<br/><br/>I stare at my name on the board.  My cheeks feel hot.  Al and Christina are just trying to help, but the fact that they don’t believe, not even in a tiny corner of their minds, that I have a chance against Peter bothers me.  It makes me angry.</p>
<p>I stand at the side of the room, half-listening to Al and Christina’s chatter, and watch Molly fight Edward.  He’s much faster than she is, so I’m sure Molly will not win today.</p>
<p>Four told us yesterday to exploit our opponent’s weaknesses, and aside from his utter lack of likeable qualities, Peter doesn’t have any.  He’s tall enough to be strong but not so big that he’s slow; he has an eye for other people’s soft spots; he’s vicious and won’t show me any mercy.  I would like to say that he underestimates me, but that would be a lie.</p>
<p>Maybe Al is right, and I should just take a few hits and pretend to be unconscious.<br/><br/>But I can’t afford not to try.  I can’t be ranked last.  And I don’t want to be.</p>
<p>By the time Molly peels herself off the ground, looking only half-conscious thanks to Edward, my heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my fingertips.  I walk to the centre of the arena and my guts writhe as Peter comes toward me, taller than I remembered, arm muscles standing at attention.  He smiles at me.  I wonder if throwing up on him will do me any good.<br/><br/>I doubt it.<br/><br/>“You okay there, Stiff?” he says.  “You look like you’re about to cry.  I might go easy on you if you cry.”</p>
<p>I flush with anger again and I grit my teeth.  I can do this.</p>
<p>Over Peter’s shoulder, I see Four standing by the door with his arms folded.  His mouth is puckered like he just swallowed something sour.  Next to him is Eric, who taps his foot faster than my heartbeat.<br/><br/>One second Peter and I are standing there, staring at each other, and the next Peter’s hands are up by his face, his elbows bent.  His knees are bent too like he’s ready to spring.</p>
<p>“Come on, Stiff,” he says, his eyes glinting.  “Just one little tear.  Maybe some begging.”<br/><br/>The thought of begging Peter for mercy makes me taste bile, and on an impulse, I punch him in the throat.  The look on Peter's face brings a cruel smirk to my face as I quickly move back out of striking range.  Before I can get another hit in Peter straightens back up and the look in his eye can only be described as murderous.</p>
<p>He swings for my jaw and I turn with the blow sidestepping him and going for his shoulder.  I take a blow to the knee and the shoulder before I have an idea.  With his next blow, I duck and turn behind him and throw an arm around his throat and lean back and put my knee into the back of his legs.</p>
<p>He goes down.  I hold on until I feel him passing out and then hold on a little longer to be sure he’s not faking it.</p>
<p>There is silence.</p>
<p>Suddenly Christina shouts with joy.  Not long after Will and Al join her.</p>
<p>I look around to see some shocked faces from everyone except Four and Eric.  Four looks alarmed, but Eric looks so smug that I have to look away.</p>
<p>Eventually, I stand up, a little shakily but Christina comes over to give a hand off the mats.  I look back at Four and his brows have dropped.  He clears his throat.  “Next up is Al and Drew.  Edward takes Peter to the infirmary.”</p>
<p>I sit down on the mat as I watch Edward lifts Peter and drag him out of the room.  As Drew and Al start to fight I stretch out my muscles slowly.  I can definitely feel bruises forming and my knee feels stiff, so after stretching I start to walk around the mats.</p>
<p>Watching Al and Drew fight is a little boring as Al is clearly not trying very much and it only takes Drew a couple of hits before Al is ‘out’.  I look at Eric to see if he has noticed Al’s duplicity.  His face is tight in a scowl but Four circles Drews name on the Board anyway.  My name is also circled on the board and it brings a feeling of pride to see.</p>
<p>The last fight of the morning is Christina and Will.  Christina loses to Will.</p>
<p>I help Will drag Christina to the infirmary before we go off to lunch.</p>
<p>After Lunch, everyone is back in the gym and we continue practising with guns for most of the afternoon before we move on to some more physical exercises.</p>
<p>Before we left for the day Eric announced that we would be going on a trip to the fence the next day and that we should be at the train for eight-fifteen.</p>
<p>Christina, Will, Al and I go to dinner and spend the rest of the evening analyzing the fights before we went to bed.</p>
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